


Iscariot

by osaki_nana_707, redluna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Organized Crime, Past Drug Addiction, Post-War, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaki_nana_707/pseuds/osaki_nana_707, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1947. P.I. Dean Winchester hasn't had a case in ages when Cas Novak comes into his office. Now it's Dean's job to help get Cas off the hook for murder, but it's not going to be easy. Cas has no memory of the night in question, and to get the answers he needs Dean's going to have to dig deep into the secrets of the two rival mobs in town, find out what's hiding in Cas's memories, and even face some of his own personal demons... and maybe some of Cas's as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the slang used in this work is not used today. While we tried to make sure it was understandable, if there's something that confuses you, please feel free to check out miskatonic.org/slang.html
> 
> We would like to thank kitty-trio and diceandpokerchips for doing the beta work for us, and our lovely, lovely artist mizgoat for the beautiful artwork!
> 
> This was our first year participating in the big bang, and we're so grateful to have been involved.

**ISCARIOT**

_**One.** _

Dean Winchester was a little drunk when _he_ came in, having been sitting in his office for the last several hours without a case and nothing but his own thoughts to occupy his attention. The bottle of whiskey was sitting half empty on the desk, the tumbler next to it still holding two fingers of the stuff (It was strong-smelling, cheap, and dry, but it got the job done for the most part and that was all Dean tended to care about), his coat and hat slung haphazardly across the chair across from him where he’d left them when he’d come in. He hadn’t really expected any business today considering the downpour outside and the general lack of excitement in general, but then entered this gink.

He was tall, though not as tall as Dean, dressed in a cheap suit and flogger, and sporting a goog eye along with a few other fading bruises. He didn’t look like a boxer by any means, really didn’t look like the type of fellow to get into trouble with anyone, but the mere fact that he was standing in Dean’s office meant that clearly trouble had found him somehow.

“Are you the gum-shoe here? Winchester?” he asked, and his voice was low and full of gravel. In the dim light, Dean could barely make out any of his features other than the shadows of bruises, the straight and pointed nose, and the stubble on his chin. He was stressed, that much was for sure—his hands were clenched into fists, his weight shifting from one side of his body to the other, and his baby blues were much more interested in looking out the window at the shining wet pavement under the streetlights than directly at Dean and his liquor.

Dean sat up, snagging his glass off of his desk and taking a swallow of his drink, finding the burn on the way down had faded hours ago. “That’d be me,” Dean said. “What’s your business?”

“I need help. I have money,” he replied, moving to sit in the chair only to hesitate when he noticed Dean’s things occupying the space instead. He leaned his hip against the armrest instead, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Yeah, so you want to spill a little more than that? I gotta know the wire before I even think about taking the case. Start with your name, how about that?”

“Cas,” he said, then paused, then added, “Novak.”

Dean swirled the liquid around in his glass, leaning his weight on his elbows while he studied Cas up and down. He could see him a bit better now that he was close to the desk. Not a bad looking fellow, still young, though he had a way about him that made him seem older and oddly unapproachable. He took another sip, setting the glass down before saying, “So, what’s the rap, Cas?”

“Someone is trying to set me up for murder,” Cas replied, voice oddly steady despite the heaviness of the statement. “I need you to help me prove my innocence. The bulls don’t have anything to pin on me just yet… but the Angels… they’re out for blood.”

“Angels,” Dean snorted in surprise, eyebrows rising on his forehead. It had been a little while since he’d heard talk about them. They were a local group of thugs, dope peddlers, money launderers, thieves—essentially one of the two rival mobs in town and known for being particularly good at it. Dean had personally found them to be obnoxious little shits, all of them going by code names from religious texts and seeming to believe themselves as higher than God. Dean didn’t really believe in any higher power, but the nerve of them to find themselves above it all just didn’t sit right with him.

Still, the Angels weren’t usually the ones out for blood. They didn’t tend to get too off the track unless provoked, so for them to be after Cas—Cas, who looked like he could have one of those homes in the suburbs with the pretty wife and children… it was bizarre.

“So who’s the body?” Dean asked when it was clear by Cas’s expression that he wasn’t kidding around. “Why are they gunning for you?”

Cas sighed, looking back towards the items in the chair (Dean didn’t know why he didn’t just move them and sit. He sure as hell didn’t plan on getting up to retrieve them), but then his eyes travelled back to Dean’s, and he explained.

“It… He… Balthazar was his name, or at least that’s what he was called. I don’t know what his Christian name was, probably never will, but he was one of the Angels… and he was a pal of mine. We had some drinks together down at the bar a few nights ago, and… somehow he… Somehow, he wound up dead. Shivved in the alleyway and left to bleed. The coppers don’t have any witnesses to the crime, but the Angels think that it had to have been me because I was the last one seen with him.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, “and what are you doing making friends with Angels?”

“The word criminal isn’t always synonymous with wickedness.”

“In my experience, that’s not true.”

Cas’s head tilted slightly. “Is it?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply and then promptly clamped it shut. He wasn’t used to his clients challenging him on, well, anything. They were generally desperate when they ended up seeking him out, and Cas’s situation certainly fit the bill… yet he still responded back as if he knew Dean’s tale, knew what Dean believed underneath everything else. Cas was still a nervous man, clearly in over his head, but the show of backbone was making Dean rethink his initial thoughts about the kind of person he was.

Instead of answering Cas’s question, Dean sat back in his chair, folding his hands together across his stomach. “All right… so what then? You need me to find Mr. Balthazar’s real killer and then what? Tell the Angels it wasn’t you? I doubt they’d give a damn what my opinion is on it.”

“I just need proof,” Cas said. “The Angels are… stubborn, but they are reasonable people. Find out who to point them towards and then I’m sure they’ll settle the rest of it on their own. No need to get your hands dirty.”

“If this job was that simple, you wouldn’t need me,” Dean said, and when Cas didn’t respond, he lifted his drink again. “All right. I’ll see what I can dig up, but you gotta remember that there are no guarantees here, especially when you’re dealing with people like the mob, you understand? Even if there’s no evidence you did do anything, there might be no proof to the contrary. Those Angels might get red hot and decide to take matters into their own hands, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I’ll help you best I can, but I’m not going to let myself get ripped to shreds to prove your innocence.”

“I understand,” Cas replied with a nod. “I can fight my own battles. I just need you to do the rest.”

“Well then,” Dean said, “I’m gonna need you to take a seat and tell me what all you remember from the last night you saw the victim.”

Cas looked down at Dean’s items in the chair again but this time he lifted them, placing them carefully on Dean’s desk before taking a seat. “There’s not much to tell,” he said, sighing. “I hadn’t seen Balthazar since before I got shipped off, so we decided to meet for a drink.”

 _A soldier_ , thought Dean, as he dug his deck of Luckies out from the pocket of his coat laid across the desk. He supposed that wasn’t all that surprising. Most of the men in town _were_ soldiers, after all. Dean wasn’t, but… well… that was another story.

“I’m not much of a drinker usually,” Cas said, “but I did drink quite a bit that night… It’s all a little bit fuzzy to be honest, but… we just talked. After that, we were both drunk, so I just walked home. I don’t know what he did. We went our separate ways, and he wound up dead. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Did you see anyone else around?”

“I don’t remember. I was lit. There probably was. It wasn’t that late.”

“Well, that’s just great, Cas,” Dean said flatly. “You’re really giving me a lot to go on here.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Dean,” Cas replied, squinting at him. Dean probably would have been more prepared with a comeback if he hadn’t been so caught off guard by the use of his first name.

As it was, all Dean could think to do was clear his throat, press a cigarette between his lips, and say, “It would have made my job easier if you could remember what witnesses there might have been around is all.”

“I wouldn’t be able to give you many names, even if I remembered. I haven’t gotten out and about much since I got back,” Cas said, standing from his chair as he pulled a silver lighter from his pocket, offering a light to Dean before he could even pat his pockets for his own lighter. “There are plenty of regulars there though, I’m sure. Maybe they could tell you.”

“Maybe,” Dean said, leaning in and lighting the end of his cigarette, taking a slow inhale from it before sitting back. Cas went to put his lighter back in his pocket when a sudden crack of thunder rattled the windows, lightning flashing across the entire sky and momentarily illuminating the office in white hot light. Dean thought he saw Cas gasp in alarm. He _definitely_ saw his lighter slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor somewhere underneath the desk.

Cas didn’t notice any of these things, however, sitting back down, folding his hands in his lap. Dean wondered if the slight tremor he saw in Cas’s fingers was real or just his imagination. He didn’t ask about it.

“So,” Cas said, meeting Dean’s eyes. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Considering how little Dean had to go on, he was tempted to say no. A job involving the mob was usually one he stayed away from, since he knew how prone they were to putting daylight in whoever stuck their noses in the wrong place… but Dean needed the money. He hadn’t had a good case in a while and what meager savings he had left wouldn’t last long.

Besides, there was something about Cas that made Dean want to help him, and Dean would be better off putting his mind to something useful rather than his personal problems.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We got ourselves a deal. Forty bucks a day, got it?”

“I can do that.”

Dean took a drag off his cigarette before tapping ash into the nearby tray. “Bring by the lettuce tomorrow night.”

Cas stood, holding out his hand for Dean to shake. Dean stared at his hand for a moment before looking up at him, clasping his palm in a firm shake. Cas’s hands were cold, and his fingers were long and almost delicate. There was a stain between his pointer and middle where he held his cigarette, and Dean thought of the lighter, thought of telling Cas it had fallen, but for some reason the words didn’t come out.

“Tomorrow night,” Dean repeated instead. “Don’t forget or I’ll have to come find you myself.”

“I won’t forget,” Cas said, and for as cold as his hand had been, when Cas let go Dean’s own hand felt colder. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

The corners of Cas’s mouth turned up, but he said nothing else, leaving the office looking pointedly more relieved than he had when he came in, even when going back out into the storm. Dean waited a few moments to make sure he wouldn’t come back and then crouched under the desk, feeling about until his fingers closed over the silver lighter. Holding it in the light, he discovered the carving of a pheasant on each side, ornately done. The lighter was clearly expensive, but it was also well-used, some of the carvings worn down in places where fingers had touched too many times. Still, it was pretty, though it didn’t really seem like something Cas would carry around with him. He clearly wasn’t a man who could afford expensive taste, though Dean supposed there may have been a time when that was different.

 _It could have been a gift_ , he reminded himself as he pocketed the lighter for the time being.

He’d keep it regardless, at least for now. If Cas didn’t pay up, he figured he could hock it for something.

 

It wasn’t all that late by the time Dean called it a night, but he was still glad to be well armed when it came to where he was going. His office wasn’t in the best part of the city to be sure, yet there were other places that were worse off still. The gin mill he shouldered his way into certainly fell into the latter category.

He couldn’t believe that this, of all places, was where he was meeting up with his kid brother. Maybe that was the wrong term to use, though. Because while Sam had invited him plenty of times, Dean mostly only came so he could check in on his little brother and then get out just as quickly.

It wasn’t that he had fallen in with a bad crowd (there were worse out there and Dean knew them personally) just…odd. _Really_ odd.

“Dean!”

There was no way not to stumble when someone as giant as Sam Winchester flung themselves over you; it certainly didn’t help that the kid was practically all muscle either.

“Hey there, Sammy.” He reached up to pat the arm, which was turning into a chokehold disguised as a hug. There was a familiar scent wafting around in his brother’s breath. “Don’t tell me you’re lit already.”

That was enough to get Sam off of him. “Like you’re one to talk.” He didn’t sound disgusted, but his nose wrinkled up in a way that suggested it. “You always drink the worst stuff.”

Dean whapped Sam in the chest with the back of his hand and it was a tad harder than it should have been when it came to brotherly ribbing... but then Sam and he hadn’t been able to behave that good-naturedly around each other in years. Try as they might, the past could never be squashed. Although maybe that had something to do with the fact that Dean had already paid his dues while Sam still wanted to skip around like nothing had happened.

It was no doubt a good thing, therefore, that Jessica decided to step in when she did. She was one of the few things in Sam’s life that Dean actually approved of. In fact, he still didn’t know what a girl like her, who probably wouldn’t be just a secretary in that law office of hers for long, saw in Sam.

She must have seen it in Dean too from the way she was grinning at him right now. “Hello Dean,” she said. “Did you come to celebrate with us?”

“Celebrate…?” Then Dean caught sight of the diamond that glimmered even in the dim lights of the club. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What finally gave you the guts?” He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from demanding where Sam had ever got the money for it. Because ice that size certainly didn’t come cheap.

“Maybe I always had them,” Sam said (and wasn’t that a laugh). Still, there was a lady present and, for her at the very least, Dean didn’t want to spoil things.

“Sure.” He tipped his hat towards the happy (in a turn of phrase) couple. “Well make sure to actually keep me in the loop for the rest of it or else I won’t be able to help out.”

“See?” Jessica squeezed Sam’s arm. “I told you he’d want to lend a hand.”

“Yeah, that’s what I always do.” There was no way to keep the words from tasting bitter on his tongue and he had to turn down his hat so the effect of it couldn’t be caught on his face. “I’ll give you two some privacy for now, though.”

“Are you sure?” Jessica asked. “Sam’s just about to start his number.”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow.” That, at least, wasn’t a flat out lie.

As he stepped out onto the curb, he paused to light a cigarette. He could hear the band striking up, the sound muffled through the thick walls, and Dean turned to look through the windows, Sam’s shadow dancing along the wall with the other band members as he put the trumpet to his lips and blew.

Through the wall and Dean’s slightly drunk hearing, it sounded like a scream.

 

By the time Dean finally got home, he wasn’t all that surprised to find Bobby waiting for him in the kitchen. At least this time he could greet him with good news.

“Got a job lined up now, so there will be some extra cash coming in.”

Bobby owned the local junk business, which managed to make a fairly decent profit (especially since “junk” could apply to anything nowadays). The extra lettuce that Dean brought in certainly helped matters, though, especially since it gave him a way to pay Bobby back for letting him stick around in the first place.

He hadn’t been able to become a copper, despite the near hero standing John Winchester had once had. No one over at the clubhouse wanted someone with a rap sheet strolling around. He got to bend the rules more when it came to his line of work, though, so Dean had lucked out all the same.

“Good to hear.” Bobby pushed himself up from his chair; the way he winced unconsciously at the ache in his bones reminded Dean of just why any cash boost would be good right now. “Now get your stupid ass up to bed so I can finally sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, squeezing Bobby’s shoulder before heading up the creaking steps to his makeshift apartment.

His place was fairly sparse, but it served its purpose which Dean figured was the point. There was no use in wishing for things that you couldn’t have.

He sat on his bed for a little while, flicking the lighter between his fingers before setting it in the drawer of his nightstand. He could shift it into the safe or carry it with him tomorrow. It wasn’t like there would be anyone trying to steal it from him tonight (the gun under his pillow and his light sleeping tendencies made sure of that either way).

Still, even with the lighter sitting hidden away in the drawer, he couldn’t help but think of its rightful owner, blown in with the storm and out with the roll of thunder. Cas… he’d been a nervous sort of man, though he supposed he could understand why. A person who didn’t bat an eyelash when accused of murder was probably guilty of something at least—Dean had seen mobsters in town who had laughed when accused of killing so-and-so over such-and-such. They were usually guilty, and they usually didn’t care. This whole town had been bought out by the mobs up until the war started, so back then they could get away with pretty much anything. Money had gotten tighter though and their grips had slipped somewhat. It had made the fighting between them all the more bloody as they tried to snatch up each other’s’ territories. Even the men who had been kept home from the war had seen their fair share of bloodshed.

Dean rolled over onto his side, away from the drawer. The street light outside his window was casting diagonal lines through the blinds across the empty side of his bed. The sound of the thunderstorm was in the distance now, just like the memory of Cas, but, like the rain, Dean knew that was far from the last time he’d be seeing him.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Two.** _

Bobby Singer was a stubborn fellow.

He’d fought in the Great War side by side with Dean and Sam’s father and damaged his legs accordingly—he could still use them, but not for long periods of time, which was why he had allowed Dean to move into the crackerjack box apartment above the junk shop he ran. Dean had offered to pay rent at first, but the money he’d leave on the counter would be right where he left it when he came back, so he gave up trying. Instead he’d help around the shop if his own business was slow and give Bobby a drinking buddy on occasion. Bobby had offered the place to help Dean get back on his feet after the whole… _debacle_ … three years ago, and Dean had used those feet to keep Bobby from having to use his own. It was far from a perfect arrangement because Dean could be just as stubborn and just as much a grouch as Bobby when the mood served him, but it was suitable.

Bobby was cooking eggs on the stove when Dean came down for breakfast. The radio was softly playing some sort of jazz standard, that kind of music Sam had become engrossed in recently. Bobby seemed to have picked up a fondness for it when he’d gone to Sam’s shows, but Dean just couldn’t “dig” it as Sam had said in the past. Maybe he was just a more traditional guy, or maybe he just became more like his father with age.

He liked to hope it wasn’t the second one.

As Dean entered the kitchen he grabbed a half-drunk whiskey bottle off of the counter and took a swig.

“It’s eight in the morning, boy,” Bobby said without even turning to look. Somehow he always just knew. “You want to at least save the hard liquor for when the sun goes down.”

“Yeah, and what would you suggest for the morning time?” Dean asked, fondness cutting into his voice even though he was being lectured.

“Milk, orange juice, water? Act like a damned functioning member of society instead of a boozehound. You wanna go over the edge with the rams, you can go do that at the bar.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said, taking one more swig before setting the bottle down. “We can go down to the bar and be old drunks together after I finish this new job.”

“I ain’t old, and you sure as hell aren’t, buster, now eat your breakfast,” Bobby said, jamming a plate of eggs and old biscuits into his hands. “You ain’t gonna be living on a liquid diet as long as you’re here. What’s this new job, anyway? Cheating husband?”

Dean pursed his lips momentarily, hesitating. Bobby wasn’t really fond of Dean’s line of work—he always said Dean had a death wish, just like his father—but he usually kept his displeasure to himself as long as it wasn’t too dangerous. Dean knew this job wouldn’t be one of those Bobby would clam up over, however. Murder was never simple, and the fact that there were mobsters involved only multiplied the complications. Dean probably would have been more hesitant to get any sort of involved in that hoopla if it weren’t for the fact that the last decent case he’d had was months ago. He’d grown tired of sitting in his office, pacing the floors, memorizing the walls, thinking about Sam…

“Yeah, something like that,” Dean decided to say, taking a seat at the table and forking a bite of eggs into his mouth. “Pay’s good.”

“Well, I should hope so,” Bobby said, fixing his own plate. “It’ll be nice not seeing your ugly mug moping around here day in and day out.”

Dean nibbled on the biscuit, disappointed in how hard it was. One day he’d make enough money that he’d be able to buy good food for Bobby, and a better place than this dump. “All I need is one case, Bobby, and I’ll be back on the map, I promise. Once I get the word back out there, people’ll come flooding in.”

“I’d say you shouldn’t get so optimistic, but it’s actually refreshing coming from you for once. Just don’t get yourself too wrapped up in anything you can’t get out of, you hear?”

Dean leveled him with a glare that he got back in return tenfold.

“Yeah, I hear,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes as Bobby handed him a glass of orange juice.

Bobby was more astute than Dean gave him credit for, he supposed. Either way, even if getting involved in the mob business was risky, Dean wasn’t going to get sucked into it. _Sam_ was the one who got sucked into things, not Dean. _He_ had been the one to—

It wasn’t important anymore. Dean wasn’t looking for revenge or kicks or even a way to bust some skulls. It was just a job and nothing more.

 

When Dean got to the office, he hadn’t expected to have a guest, but there, waiting outside with a paper sack in his hands was Cas, looking definitively less nervous and less rained on than he had the night before. “Fancy seeing you here, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. “We had an appointment.”

Dean pulled the cig he’d been smoking from his lips, raising his eyebrows curiously. “Thought I told you not to come by until tonight.”

“I know,” Cas replied frankly. “Thought it might be a better show of faith if I paid up as soon as I could.” He handed Dean the paper sack. “This should cover today and tomorrow.”

Dean couldn’t count the stacks of fives inside without pulling them out of the bag, but it did look like it had to at least be the eighty clams Cas claimed it to be. Dean stuck the bag into the inner breast pocket of his coat, grinning around his cigarette as he said, “Quite a show of faith paying me that much up front. You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

“I have nothing left but faith,” Cas replied simply, “and your reputation precedes you.”

Dean covered the fact that he had no response to that with a drag on his cigarette. He was surprised to find that Cas was even more of the handsome good boy type in the daylight, even with the tell-tale appearance of stubble that hinted he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. His nervousness had made him seem smaller the night before however, which definitely didn’t travel with him into the morning. Dean had known he was a soldier, but now he could see it—the way that he stood, arms at his side, his back straight, his feet together. He suspected the slightly bewildered expression was just natural for him.

“Please, Dean,” Cas said, interrupting his train of thought. The earnestness must have been natural too because Dean could hear it every sentence he spoke. “I will do whatever it takes to clear my name. I will pay you. I will help you. I will follow you every step of the way if I have to. Please, just tell me what you need from me.”

It wasn’t often Dean found his clients so eager to join in on the case. The whole reason why they hired him was so they could slough it off their own backs and stop worrying about it… Of course, he didn’t deal with murder cases quite so often, so he supposed this was a bit different.

“All right,” Dean said, pausing to take another drag off of his cigarette before adding, “how about we go dip the bill at this bar you and your buddy Balthazar were getting smoked in the other night? You might not be able to remember who was there, but some of the others might.”

Cas pursed his lips, and Dean could hear the thoughts in his head about it being far too early to be drinking, the goody two-shoes. He didn’t vocalize those thoughts though, instead nodding and saying, “Yes, let’s… let’s go now.”

 

The joint that Cas led the way to wasn’t exactly what you would call high class, but it was still a step up from the places that Dean tended to frequent. The bartender even smiled at them when they came in, although it didn’t take long to realize that it wasn’t just the sign of new customers that had invoked such a reaction.

“I didn’t expect to see you in so early, Cas.” The man shot a look over at Dean, who was already setting his hat down on the—polished, not scuffed, and wasn’t that nice—wood paneling of the counter and sliding onto a stool. “Or with such new company.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, not expecting to be brought under such scrutiny. “Hey, I’m safe, promise,” he said. He might have had to slosh through the scum of the city on a regular basis, but he had enough morals left to make sure the stink of it didn’t stick.

The bartender still side-eyed him, though, which Dean almost wound up taking as a compliment despite it all. Because it wasn’t like it would do any harm to his profession to be seen as at least somewhat dangerous—quite the reverse in fact.

It was what the man said next that put a bit of a spin on things.

“You seemed kind of at odds with the guy you were in here last time is all.” He had directed it at Cas, brow pinched in concern, so he gave Dean an odd look for the way he lurched across the bar top. Which he could admit he probably deserved…at least a little.

“What?” Dean twisted his head over to Cas. “You didn’t tell me anything about that.”

“It was nothing of import,” Cas all but muttered it out, though, with his eyes glued to the bar and that was a definite tell.

“Right,” Dean said. “Because it’s not important to the guy trying to save your ass that—”

“I’ll have a gin fizz, please,” Cas cut in. “And my friend will have…whatever’s on tap, I’m sure.”

“And cheapest,” Dean added. They might have been drinking off of Cas’s dime, but that didn’t mean he felt the need to show off. Besides, a simple beer or a shot of whiskey had always been fine by him, not whatever it was the bartender’s hands were flying through to make for Cas.

It wasn’t until the bartender had set their drinks down and moved off down the bar to polish glasses, giving them at least a sense of being alone, that Cas leaned in. “I don’t think it wise to discuss our… situation… so freely in mixed company.”

“Mixed? Company?” Dean looked around the bar, which, except for a few truly beat down looking guys pressed into corners, was utterly empty. He shook his head when Cas’s face kept stuck in that solemn expression. The man could rival one of those marble statues up in the city museums. “Fine, fine. I’ll be selective about what ‘company’ I discuss it with. Does that make you happy?”

“I suppose,” Cas said. The twist to his mouth suggested something differently, though, and Dean pressed on before he could drop any more soured words.

“Good, then let’s stop bumping gums. What had you out of sorts with Balthazar? Cause I don’t need to tell you how bad that sounds.” He edged closer to Cas (to satisfy the man’s paranoid desire for privacy, of course), surprised to find that whatever cologne he was wearing did actually smell nice instead of just being an assault on the senses. It was vaguely citrus, with something less so underneath.

“It’s nothing. Well, not nothing, but…” Cas sighed, tipping his head back to take a deeper slug of his drink than Dean would have expected from a guy who dressed like a rumpled businessman. “He wanted to warn me about something… which was good of him. But then he wouldn’t stop taking about… _her_ … thinking he could get answers out of me somehow.” He sighed, staring down at what was left of his drink. “He should have known better. I’ve never taken kindly to people trying to probe me about her, even friends.”

“Yeah?” Dean said. “Well you’re gonna have to make an exception.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek when Cas looked up at him with those eyes. Being able to look so innocently sweet—those eyes should have belonged to a dame, not a man Cas’s age—should have been a crime. “I need to know everything if you want me to help you, Cas.”

“Yes.” Cas dropped his gaze back to his drink. “Yes, I suppose you do. But not here.” He drained what was left in the glass, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You better finish your drink fast, detective. You’re gonna need it for later.”

 

Dean took a little time at the bar to ask around about the events that had transpired that night, all while a very uncomfortable-looking Cas occasionally glanced from his spot at the bar. The men there that early in the morning were nothing but old drunkards and essentially useless even though they had been there the night the events had transpired. All he’d managed to get through the drunken slurring was that one fellow seemed to think Cas was a bit of a nance. Dean supposed he would have to come back again later in the evening, preferably without Cas hovering about.

For the moment though, he followed Cas out to the street and shared a taxi with him back to an apartment. It didn’t escape his attention that Cas seemed to live right in the very small section of town that hadn’t been grabbed up by either of the two rival mobs, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead he followed Cas up flight after flight of stairs until they reached door 609. It was alarmingly tiny, tinier than Dean’s own room above Bobby’s place, crammed and cluttered with more furniture than strictly needed for a single man. It was all old though, and slightly haggard. Dean suspected they were things Cas had inherited when his parents had passed, things he couldn’t afford to put anywhere else.

“Make yourself at home,” Cas said, hanging up his hat and coat before moving further into the apartment, turning on a lamp or two since the drawn shades had shrouded the place in nearly complete darkness. Dean dug out his cigarettes and lit one up, mind momentarily sliding back to the lighter he’d left in his drawer at home. Cas hadn’t mentioned it, so he didn’t seem to miss it… a bit odd, Dean thought, considering how well-used it had been. It had clearly meant a lot to him at one time… or at least, it had meant a lot to _someone_.

Speaking of _someone_ …

“So,” Dean said, pausing to let smoke drift from his lips before adding, “Tell me about her. Lover? Wife?”

“Friend,” Cas clarified, sitting down on the plush, ornate sofa. It was quite a hideous thing, something Dean would have expected in the parlor of a gentleman’s club. Cas looked out of place on it, like he’d wandered into this apartment completely by accident. “She’s… she was… a friend.”

Dean frowned, taking a drag off of his cigarette. “You’re not trying to tell me there’s another body involved in all this, are you?”

Cas just looked miserable for a moment before dropping his head into his hands. “Anna. Her name was Anna, and she died right before the war. She was an Angel, like Balthazar was… and they thought I offed her too because someone claimed they saw me there the night she died.”

Dean moved to sit next to Cas on the sofa but then thought better of it, taking a seat in an overstuffed chair across the disorderly coffee table. “So what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, “People said she was poisoned, but I doubt that. She was too bright to let someone poison her. Angels just want to point fingers when one of their own winds up dead, and I guess I was convenient enough both times. They couldn’t breathe down my neck about Anna because I was drafted, but Balthazar winding up dead seemed to be reason enough to pin them both on me.”

“So, you’re telling me you’re just one of those ‘wrong place, wrong time’ guys, are you?”

“I understand your skepticism, Dean,” he said softly, staring at a pale ring on the corner of the coffee table where a drink had sat for too long. Dean wondered if maybe it had been Anna’s.

“Why are the Angels so set on you then, huh, Cas? They’re awfully interested in you considering you aren’t involved.”

He leveled Cas with a stare, a silent challenge to say something. Cas momentarily squirmed, looking towards the window as if he could see through the shutters to the outside.

“What do you want me to say, Dean?” he asked, voice soft and frank, just like it always seemed to be. “I ran with them on occasion… not because I wanted to but because I had no other choice. I’m sure you can remember that this was a hard world to live in for a while, harder than it is even now. If you didn’t sit at the table with the Angels or the Devil’s Trap, then you didn’t eat.”

The Devil’s Trap was the Angels’ rival gang in town, currently run by a slimy fellow from across the pond known only as Crowley. Dean hadn’t had too many run-ins with him, finding that Crowley and his band of misfits didn’t share the same kind of loyalty that the Angels did and would split when things turned sour. Dean was aware that despite the calm speaking voice and fancy clothes, he was the definition of sleaze. Dean wouldn’t trust him even if he had run with his gang. Still, while Crowley lacked loyalty, he usually came through on his promises of money, booze, and women. There was a reason why so many of the men and women in town sold their proverbial souls to him after all.

“So you chose the Angels then,” Dean said, expression carefully neutral.

“I did what I had to,” Cas replied, looking unashamed. “They weren’t really happy when I wanted out. They claimed I was working with Crowley, said I was a traitor… and then Anna wound up dead. They knew Anna and I were close, and when I left for war, they thought I was scramming before they could find the proof that I was behind it.”

Dean nodded, leaning over to tap ash into a tray on the table. “So, this Balthazar guy, did he think you did her in?”

“No,” Cas said firmly, surely. “He knew I would never do that to Anna. I’d never do that to anyone. I would never kill anyone, surely you know that.”

“Well, Cas, I don’t, because I don’t know you,” Dean reminded, “and besides, you probably killed plenty of folks in the war, didn’t you?”

Cas pressed his lips together, expression slightly pinched, and then he sagged in defeat. “You know that’s different. You fought too, didn’t you?”

It was Dean’s turn to hesitate. Softly, he said, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?” Cas asked, tilting his head a bit like a curious puppy dog.

“This isn’t about me. This is about you,” Dean said flatly.

“It’s just a simple question.”

“Well, it’s none of your damned business,” Dean growled, voice clipped.

Cas jolted and fell silent, looking away again. Dean wasn’t sure when he’d looked back at him.

“I apologize,” Cas said. “You’re right. It isn’t my business.”

Damned if he didn’t look like a kicked dog at that, causing an emotion alarmingly close to guilt to bubble up in Dean’s stomach. It was a feeling mainly reserved for Sam on most days, but apparently Cas had that effect on people.

Sighing, Dean sat back in the chair and took a few puffs off his cigarette. “I was locked up for a couple of years,” he admitted. “That a good enough answer for you?”

Cas was silent for a moment, mulling over the information he’d learned. After a minute or so, he appeared to have decided not to comment on it. Dean was grateful.

“So, you worked with the Angels,” Dean said. “You were one of them?”

“No, of course not,” Cas said just a beat too quickly. “Dean… I understand you don’t know me, but you are working for me. I need you to take my word for things like this.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” Dean replied. “I just need to get the facts straight, so know that if you’re lying to me, it’s not really going to help you.”

Cas narrowed his eyes as if thinking. If he had anything to hide, it wasn’t showing on his face, but he still chose his words carefully before he spoke again. “I don’t associate with them. I worked for them when I needed to, and I got out when I could. Balthazar wanted me back in, but I refused. I’m not that kind of man. I never was. That… that was what I told him.”

He said the last of it as if he was only just now remembering.

“So, what then?” Dean egged on, hoping that this memory would open the door to more. “Did he try to use Anna’s name to guilt you into it?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said softly, gaze going back to the water ring on the coffee table. “I recall… that I told him it was life in the Angels that killed her, not me. I told him that I came back from the war injured but alive, and that was enough to convince me to live a mundane, happy life. That’s all I want.”

Dean snorted.

“Is that funny to you, Dean?”

“What, aiming for the whole wife, two kids, and a picket fence thing? I think it’s possible, yeah, but I don’t think it’s as simple as all that. Who’s to say those things’ll actually make you happy in the end?”

“I never said that those were the things I desired,” Cas replied simply. “All I said was that I wanted a mundane, happy life. I never said it was simple.”

Dean paused, pursing his lips. “So what is it you want then?”

He had no idea why he had asked such a thing.

“I think… that is something I’ll know when I find it,” Cas said, lifting his eyes to meet Dean’s (he definitely noticed this time).

Dean didn’t know how to respond such a statement, but he did know the room suddenly felt a bit uncomfortably warm. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and shrugged out of his flogger, realizing he hadn’t bothered to remove it when he’d come in.

Once he folded his coat over the arm of the chair and placed his hat on top of it, he asked, “So, after you left the bar, what happened?”

Cas was silent, and then, “I still don’t remember. I wish I did, but… after I refused Balthazar, he started buying drinks, and I ended up smoked. That’s the crop.”

Dean had a strange urge not to believe him, but Cas’s face was so honest, so gentle (and handsome)…

“All right… Well, I’m just going to have to work a little harder,” Dean said. “You know anyone in the Angels who might be looking to set you up?”

Cas picked at a stray thread sticking up on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t know. I was more of an errand boy than anything. I didn’t think I made much of an impression on anyone… at least, I don’t think so.”

“What about Crowley’s boys?”

“Oh,” Cas said, frowning. “Crowley doesn’t like me, but I doubt his hatred of me is enough cause for murder.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Dean hadn’t really wanted to get involve with one mob, much less _both_ of them, but it was quickly starting to look like that was what was going to happen. He’d just have to play his cards as close to the chest as possible. Thankfully, he’d been in that underbelly before. He knew how it worked.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Three.** _

To look at Sam Winchester now, no one would have suspected he was once a junkie.

Dean knew though, had borne witness to the unfolding events years ago, back when they had worked together. Back then, he and Sam had been nearly inseparable. They may not have always agreed on their methods, but Dean was unendingly loyal to Sam, something that hadn’t entirely changed, even if the circumstances had.

Sam had always been the good one—angry, a little impulsive, but genuinely good. Despite the way he and their father butted heads, Dean knew how fond John Winchester was of Sam. He tended not to talk to Dean unless he was barking orders, had been that way since Dean was small. He supposed their father had seen Sam as the last remaining piece of their mother. Dean was just another person who couldn’t save her.

Dean had done his best to take the brunt of his dad’s anger as he succumbed to alcoholism and the hauntings of the friends he lost in the first Great War. Dean had been the caretaker, the one to tuck young Sam into bed and to make sure his dad wasn’t mumbling in his sleep about their mother too loudly. He’d thought that he had protected Sam, that he always would be able to, but then one job happened.

That one job introduced Sam to Ruby, and Ruby had introduced Sam to cocaine. She’d been a dope peddler for Crowley at the time but hadn’t liked him too much. She was willing to give Dean and Sam both the wire on his goings-on when they suspected him to be involved in the case they were investigating. Dean had instantly disliked and distrusted her, thinking her nothing but a she-devil (he did turn out to be right), but Sam had a heart full of sympathy for her. He figured it had something to do with the fact that Ruby spun some sort of story about how she just wanted to be free, that she’d been stifled and held down her whole life and was just doing what she needed to so that she could get out. Dean hadn’t known it then, but he had discovered not long after that he couldn’t protect Sam from all of Dad’s words. He had already failed.

The drugs made Sam feel alive—at least that was what he said when Dean had found him out. He told Dean that he wouldn’t understand, had the audacity to tell him that he and Ruby loved one another. Dean could still remember the strength of the punch to the face he took when he’d told Sam that all Sam loved about her was her supply. It had left a bruise that had lasted for over a week, but he had barely felt that pain when compared with the betrayal he had felt.

In the end, he had blamed himself. If he’d been more observant, if he’d done a better job taking care of Sam, if he had interviewed Ruby alone, all of it could have been prevented. That was what Dean had convinced himself of anyway. He tried to get Sam off of the snow, but Sam-on-drugs was a Sam that liked to burn every bridge left in his wake. He left the business, and for a bit ran with Ruby, selling dope while getting more and more hooked on the stuff. For a month or so, Dean didn’t even know where he was or if he was alive. It was then that he’d infiltrated the drug dens and the filthy underworld of crime in the city, determined to find Sam or die trying. If Sam wasn’t going to stop willingly, then Dean would drag his ass out of hell on his own.

…It didn’t exactly go as planned.

Dean found him, yes, but just in time for the bulls to rush in on a drug bust. Sam had been barely alive in that damned place, but Dean had gotten him out the window and gotten him moving before the coppers knew he was there. Dean hadn’t been so lucky in his own escape, but to protect Sam, he’d taken the fall.

He’d wound up in stir. The lawmen in town weren’t terribly fond of Dean interfering in their business with his own private investigations after all and wanted to make an example of him. Dean hadn’t wanted to go to jail, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Ruby had gotten locked up too, and with Bobby’s help, Sam went straight. The sickness from the drugs kept Sam out of the war while the incarceration had done the same for Dean—things should have gotten better after that, but Sam found a new group to run with by the time Dean was free. He was all talk of war protest and jazz music, playing the trumpet in a band at the nightclubs in town for money and smoking reefer cigarettes. Meanwhile, Dean had just hardened his mind, body, and heart all the more in prison. He didn’t know how to talk to people anymore, and he didn’t have a legitimate business with a record. No one would hire him, and because it was the only thing he was good for, he turned to the drink.

Then Cas had walked through the door.

Cas had stood before him, soaking wet and innocent and asking for help, and Dean had seen his brother. He’d seen his failures. He’d seen an opportunity to get back on top. One good job, one successful job was all he needed and then he could be happy. Maybe if the business was successful Sam would come back to work and everything would go back to normal. It wouldn’t undo what had been done, but maybe they’d be able to move past it. Maybe.

He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to tread in mobster territory again after all of that had gone down. Even when Cas had told him the Angels were involved he’d expected to get his feet wet but not dive right in. Dean was never one to back down from a job though, and Cas seemed like a good enough guy—all he wanted was a normal life, and damned if Dean couldn’t relate to that. Getting Cas off the hook was going to be the thing that got Dean back on the map, so he was more than happy to help.

After their conversation about Anna, Cas moved off of the couch and busied himself in the kitchen, making a small lunch for them both. He had insisted before Dean could tell him no, so there wasn’t much to be done. Besides, he suspected there was more to this than he was being told, though he could understand why Cas wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the information. A lesser guy than Dean might have dismissed his credibility as soon as he found out he worked with the mob, but Dean knew better.

Everyone in the city was corrupt. At least the mobsters accepted that.

“So,” Dean said, wandering around the tiny space, finding it piled with so many things and yet none of them personal. “I take it you don’t have yourself a wife.”

“It isn’t a crime,” Cas said from inside the kitchen. Dean could only see a sliver of his body from the angle he was standing at—the point of his nose, his deft hands moving about as he prepared the meal.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said, turning instead to look out the window, parting the curtains slightly to see the street below. “I just figured if you had one, she would’ve stitched you up before you came to see me. Your bruises are fading at least.”

Cas stayed silent, so Dean glanced back over his shoulder and added, “Who was it who gave you the Broderick, anyway?”

Cas glanced through the crack in the doorway then, giving Dean a view of just one of those too-blue eyes (the unbruised one by chance). “I… don’t remember,” he admitted. “It happened the night Balthazar died. I guess I was involved in the scuffle myself…”

Dean’s brow knitted together in concern. “So you did fight with someone. How do you know it wasn’t Balthazar?”

“Balthazar would never try to hurt anyone physically. He preferred to use his brain in situations like that. Besides, why would I even let it escalate that far? Balthazar… he was my friend.”

There was a familiar sadness in his voice when he said it, one that couldn’t help but conjure Sam’s visage in Dean’s mind. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you remembered _something_ ,” Dean offered, sauntering into the kitchen. He didn’t realize how small it was until he had come into the room and found himself practically pressed up against Cas.

Cas didn’t seem alarmed or even offended. He just looked up at Dean and said, “I apologize. If I remember anything, I’ll tell you.”

Before Dean could reply to that, he was being handed a plate sporting a simple ham and mustard sandwich. “I don’t have much here,” Cas said. “I hope this will do.”

Dean looked down at the plate, watching as it shook ever so slightly in Cas’s hand, and then he took hold of the other side. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

 

Dean waited until it was dark to return to the bar, and by then it was absolutely hopping. It definitely served to the older crowd, but there were some younger faces in the crowd too. Dean thought back on how he had never been one of those young faces in the bars, having spent most of his younger years scrounging for money to keep Sam and his father alive during the hard times. By the time they had gotten back into the black, Dean had found he’d preferred to drink alone. When he was pouring his own drinks, no one ever told him to stop.

The age of the crowd soon became less important to Dean as he became aware of how many Angels were in the joint. He’d suspected it was one of their hang-outs considering it was on Angel territory and Balthazar had clearly not minded being there, but he didn’t expect it to be crawling with them. The Angels never really seemed like the type of group to drink.

Sighing, he kept the brim of his hat angled low and sauntered over to the bar, silently raising his hand to the barkeep to bring him two fingers of whiskey. It was a different fellow than before, thirties, hair a golden brown and eyes the color of honey. He had a way about him that just seemed agitated, despite the smile on his face, and as he poured Dean’s drink, he said, “You’re not the usual meat to darken my doorway. What brings you here, Winchester?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You and I know each other?”

“Nah, but I’ve heard of you. You don’t work in this town as long as I have and not hear stories about everyone.” As he passed Dean’s drink to him, Dean couldn’t help but notice the tattoo on the inside of his wrist—a black wing that was the sign of the Angels.

“Is that so?” Dean asked, sipping at the drink, studying him. He knew he’d have to be careful not to be obvious about his purpose here. “So, what do they call you then?”

“Who’s askin’?” When Dean didn’t reply with anything other than a twitch of his eyebrows, the man conceded. “Gabriel. So, now that I’ve answered you question, how about you tell me why you’re dipping your bill in one of our places, hmm? Sniffer dogs like you usually aren’t so brave, but then, I hear you’re a bit more like us than the bulls.”

“I just wanted to grab a drink, see what the wire is around town. Ain’t got any work, after all.” He knocked back his drink and ordered a second one.

Gabriel hummed, pouring Dean another drink. “So you’re hunting down work then,” he said. “I guess if I was in your position a den of criminals like this one would be the place to go.”

“Heard one of your own got bumped off the other night. What’d you hear about that? You did say you know everyone’s story.”

Gabriel’s gaze flattened, but his smile never faltered. Dean knew he couldn’t trust him just from that smile but suspected he might give him some info if only for shits and giggles.

“You’re not subtle,” Gabriel said.

“A fellow’s got a right to be curious,” Dean replied. “I heard it happened near here. Were you working that night?”

“As a matter of fact I was, but whether I was working that night isn’t the question here. The question is whether or not you’re working right now and who it is you’re working for.”

“I’m not working for anyone.”

“Everyone’s always working for someone.”

Dean’s lips thinned momentarily, and then he said, “I just want to know what happened.”

Gabriel watched him for a moment, looking for a tell, and when he couldn’t find one, sighed. “Give me about a half hour. I got customers to tend to. When it settles a little, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Balthazar was a good guy… more or less. Either way, he didn’t deserve to die and whoever did him in deserves something.”

Dean tilted his drink towards Gabriel as a gesture of thanks and knocked it back.

Now he was getting somewhere.

 

 

Gabriel’s half hour was quickly turning into an hour and then some, so Dean slipped outside. If he’d waited indoors any longer he suspected he’d start getting the gears turned on him as to why he was there, and he didn’t need anyone asking questions.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wandered towards the alleyway where the murder had taken place, finding it had been barricaded by the police. The rain had surely washed away any of the remaining blood by now, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The place was dank and dark and easy to hide in. It really was the perfect place to off someone, Dean thought.

He could only vaguely even picture Cas in an area like this. He surely must have stood out like a sore thumb. He really didn’t know how a guy like that could get in so deep with the Angels and then could be stupid enough to go to one of their hang-outs when they were already calling murder on him. He either had to be brave or foolish… Dean had found those traits often overlapped. He’d even been accused of the same. He suspected Cas could very well be more the latter than the former, however.

Poor, foolish Cas…

Dean found he’d been thinking of him quite a bit since he’d left the apartment. He supposed that was only normal considering the case, but… Well, Dean still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him. For the longest time Dean hadn’t felt much of anything for anyone whether it was pity or anger or even interest. Since he’d gotten out of prison, he’d felt anaesthetized, staring at a world of black and white, a world that kept Sam at a distance and where his only close friend was the bottle.

…but then Cas had shown up in his doorway and asked for help, and Dean had felt the first stirrings of… something… in a long time. He wanted to help Cas, maybe because he saw a bit of Sam in him, maybe because he saw a bit of himself… maybe a bit of both. Hell, maybe it was just those big, sad baby blues of his—the first spark of color in the black and white in a while. He wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but the longer he thought on it, the more determined he became.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, uncomfortable with the emotions he was starting to experience. Though he hadn’t gone to war, he fancied himself a soldier—he’d certainly been told he had the discipline of one. Being raised by a former soldier had that effect on a boy. He hadn’t always been stoic, of course, but his time in prison had hardened him. The numbness was unpleasant and lonely, but it was safer. His affection had been reserved only for Sam, and Sam had let him down—no… Dean had let himself down, and he’d let Sam down. Now was his chance to make up for it, not with Sam, but at least with Cas. It was a starting point anyway, one that would hopefully push him forward rather than just down.

He pulled a match out of his coat, struck it against the box, and a flame sprang to life, golden and blue. He tossed it into the empty alleyway, saw just a brief flash of shadows as it hit the ground and went out. There was nothing to see there. It was no more than the place where it ended.

He looked towards the bar and decided to head back, figuring he should make sure Gabriel knew he didn’t get impatient and scram. He still had a job to do, and it wouldn’t do to get caught up in his own head.

 

 

Gabriel didn’t come around to chat with Dean until the bar crowd was winding down, and by then Dean was only about half as sober as he probably should have been. If Gabriel noticed he didn’t call him on it, instead sidling into the barstool next to him and saying, “So, gumshoe, what do you want to know?”

Dean downed the last of his drink and pushed the tumbler aside, turning his green eyes on Gabriel. “Tell me what you know about last night. Did Balthazar come in with anyone?”

“You mean Castiel?”

Dean blinked. “Cas…?”

“Castiel. It’s his angel moniker. He’s been going by it so long he probably wouldn’t respond if you called him James. Maybe he just doesn’t feel like James Novak anymore, I don’t know.”

Dean supposed that information wasn’t all that important, but he still felt a bit hurt that he hadn’t been let in on it…

 _Why?_ He thought. _You’ve barely known him a day._

“So what then? This Cas guy and Balthazar are… were… friends?”

“Yeah, I guess. Most of the others washed their hands of Cas when he ran off to war, but Balthazar was always a smooth talker. I think he believed he’d be able to fix things if Cas was interested.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“Didn’t appear to be, no,” Gabriel said. “Poor sap. He looked pretty rough around the edges, like he hadn’t slept in days. I think Balthazar was worried about him, honestly. Cas doesn’t exactly have a job, you know? He came back from overseas a bit banged up all over, and all he’s ever known is us. He’s been with us since he was practically a kid. He still turned Balthazar’s offer down though. I don’t think it was the same after Anna died. A lot of the guys think Cas did it, but I don’t think that’s true. Little guy is tougher than he looks, but he wouldn’t have done that, not to her.”

“Was he in love with her or something?”

Dean had no idea why he’d asked. Cas had said she was nothing more than a friend.

“I don’t know how his queer little mind works, ask him yourself. Anyway, I don’t think he ran off because he did anything unsavory to her. I think he ran off because he couldn’t face the fact that she was gone. He’d seen people die before, we all have, but it was the first time anyone close to him had died. That kind of thing changes a guy.”

Dean felt his stomach twist as he thought of his mother. He looked away from Gabriel’s face, not wanting him to read anything from the way he stiffened. “Yeah, well, I’m not really here about what happened to Cas before. I want to know about last night. Did he and Balthazar fight?”

“They argued a little,” Gabriel said, shrugging a shoulder. “After that, Balthazar let it go. They had drinks and caught up on things. I didn’t hear all they said. It was just the normal stuff. It didn’t take Cas long to be lit, mind. I guess he hasn’t drank in a while because two, maybe three drinks in he couldn’t even stand up properly. From there Balthazar offered to take him home, and that was the last I saw of him. Next I heard, he was chilled off and Cas was hiding out.”

“You think he did it?”

“That guy? Like I said, he was too drunk to do any damage as far as I know. He’d have to obtain some powerful strength at the last minute to manage that. Of course, all the Angels who asked me about it don’t want to hear that part.”

“So, who do you think did it?”

“Could’ve been anyone.”

“Anyone you might suspect in particular?”

He hummed, looking a bit bored. “Rumor has it that Crowley’s been on the prowl, trying to expand his territory into our turf. You’d do better talking to his goons than ours. They all seem pretty dead set on it being Cas. You’ll find the Angels are pretty quick to jump to conclusions.”

“But not you, eh?” Dean queried, raising an eyebrow.

“You hear enough stories, you don’t believe anything anyone says.”

“Where can I find Crowley’s gang?”

“Sniff around a bit near the docks. I hear he’s got a gambling ring that he participates in on the weekends. It might not be a good idea to go alone though. They’re not exactly friendly even to each other.”

“Who else would I bring with me?” Dean asked, smirking as he got to his feet. “Don’t you worry about me, doll face. I think I can take a punch to the face or two.”

“I’d love to see that,” Gabriel said brightly. “Don’t call me pet names either, Winchester, or I might just get to give you a good punch.”

“Maybe next time,” Dean said, pulling on his coat and started to walk away.

“Oh,” Gabriel called out, “and give Cas my regards.”

Dean didn’t know why, but his face felt warm the whole walk home.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Four.** _

There was a car parked out on the curb when Dean got back, and the sound of laughter spilled out as soon as he had opened the door. It was such a foreign sound that he actually lingered for a moment in the doorway, not even realizing that Jessica had come out until she took his arm to pull him inside. The smell of her perfume brought him back down— light, flowery, and all around him as she tugged his coat off.

“You’re back late,” she said. “We got out of the club at such an hour that we were half afraid you’d all be in bed, but Bobby said you were out working a case.”

Bobby didn’t tend to drop off until Dean got home. Jessica didn’t know that, of course, but Dean got the sense that she wouldn’t be surprised at all if told. “Um…yeah,” he said. “There’ll be a lot of late nights in my future, no doubt, but it’ll be worth it.” He took off his hat, moving to set it down near his coat only to have Jessica pluck it from his hands to do it for him.

“Come on, Jess.” A broad hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing just a little. Dean didn’t even have to turn around to guess who it was. “He’s a grown man and if you keep at this it’ll just go right to his head.”

Jessica rolled her shoulders up into an easy shrug. “Someone’s gotta remind him what kindness is like.” Dean was still barreled over trying to process that when she winked over at Sam. “Besides, someone needed to butter him up.”

A snort signaled Bobby’s arrival on the scene. “Like there’s any need for that,” he said. “You’ve got about a snowball’s chance in hell of the boy here turning you down.”

“What?” Dean looked down at Jess from under raised eyebrows. “And here I thought you were marrying my brother.”

Jessica swatted him in the chest, although the corners of her lips were already quirking up. “That’s not it at all, silly,” she said, “but it is about the wedding. You see—”

“Will you be my best man?”

Sam blurted it out so fast that it took Dean a few seconds to decipher it all. He was pretty damn surprised over it, although he probably really shouldn’t have been. Just like Sam shouldn’t have had to look flat out terrified over what his answer might be. It was even worse that he wasn’t the only one looking that way.

“Stop looking like you’re gonna piss yourself,” Dean said. Sam opened his mouth, no doubt to launch into one of his usual defense-ridden tirades, but then Dean was pulling him into a hug and he was too stunned to do anything at all. “This isn’t the sort of shit you have to ask about.”

The ground beneath them may have been wobbly ever since Dean got out of the cooler—even before that, honestly—but if there was one thing that was etched down into Dean’s bones it was the need to always be there for Sam, however his brother needed him. Besides, this was actually one of those times when it was actually going to be an enjoyable task to boot.

He pulled back, not having to look at Jessica to know that she was looking at him with the same warm look that Bobby was. Actually that last part came as a bit of a surprise; he didn’t think he did much to make Bobby really smile anymore.

“And just ‘cause I like you Jess,” he said, mostly because he could only go so long without getting uncomfortable under those stares, “I won’t take him to any can houses.”

“I know you better than that,” Jessica agreed. “Just take him some place where he can’t spend all his free time buried in a book or try to climb up onto the stage.”

Dean held up his hands. “I can’t make any guarantees about what crazy stuff gets into his head once liquor hits it.” Everyone laughed then and Dean couldn’t help doing so right along with them because, for once, Sam wasn’t taking something like that as a cheap shot. He was grinning at Dean just like he used to, dimples carving deep into his cheeks.

For a moment, Dean was tempted to tell Sam all about the job he had stumbled across. Sam didn’t have to be dragged into it, but Dean could at least pick his brother’s mind for some added insights. Sam had always been the one with a plan, after all, able to pick up on all the different angles in a given situation.

…Except this was the last sort of thing that Sam needed in his life right now. He should be putting all his focus towards the marriage and Jess. At least one of them deserved the chance to move on towards something happier out of all this muck.

The goodnights were exchanged pretty quickly after that since Dean had been the one that everyone had been waiting up for. Sam pulled him in for another hug before he left, which left Dean the surprised one this time, before bounding down the steps after Jess.

“That’s the closest I’ve seen you two back to civil in a day and an age,” Bobby said. “And that’s more than enough reason to celebrate in my book.”

Dean was still watching Sam bundle Jess into the car, pausing to frame her face in his too big hands so he could pull her in for a kiss. He wasn’t sure whether the gnawing, hollow sense in his chest came from knowing that he was probably giving his brother away for good or something more. He swallowed hard before turning to Bobby.

“So long as that means some sort of alcohol then I’m in,” he said.

It made Bobby shake his head, but he couldn’t come up with any resistance which Dean was grateful for. All he wanted to do right now was to try to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth while trying not to let his mind linger on why watching the sight of the happy couple together had made him think of Cas.

At this point Cas himself was a whole other can of worms just waiting to be pried open.

 

The happiness that had radiated from Bobby’s place when Sam was there had drained out when he’d left, and Dean had proceeded to get roaring drunk to ignore it. Bobby went to bed sometime before four, but Dean stayed in his chair, finishing off the whiskey.

At some point, he dragged himself to bed, and that was when he found himself propped against his rickety bedframe, flicking Cas’s lighter on and off. _Life’s a lot like that, ain’t it? It’s there and it’s bright and it’s golden, and then it’s not._ Dean chuckled a little bitterly to himself at the thought. Still, there was some truth to it, he supposed, though he would bet Cas could relate better than Dean. Dean’s mother had died when he was almost too young to remember her face, and his father… that death had been slow, agonizingly so as his liver took the brunt of every drink, each finger of whiskey curling into a fist and pummeling his insides until he finally succumbed.

Balthazar had been snuffed out and Anna too, though Cas was still feeling the repercussions of the fire, standing in the wreckage without answers.

Dean snorted, flicking the lighter off again. A hell of a job he was doing, he thought, sitting here smoked and pensive instead of out looking for answers. He hadn’t intended to stay when he’d returned to Bobby’s, but seeing Sam had caused all of his other responsibilities to fly out the window. Dean had been drawn into the warmth like a moth to flame, just like he always was… and in the end he disappointed himself.

Just like he always did.

He flicked the lighter back on.

Sam had been happy, sure, which was always good news for Dean, and it wasn’t like Dean’s happiness for him was false. He was thrilled to know his little brother had found a nice girl to settle down with (even if he did still involve himself with the jazz scene and smoke those reefer cigarettes)… but to see Sam go like this made his intentions with this case muddy. He’d been so certain that he’d get himself back on his feet and get Sam back under his protective wing, that they’d work together again and it’d be like the good old days (or at least the good old days before Sam started using). Now, he wasn’t so sure he could get Sam back, even if he could salvage the business.

…without Sam, what did Dean even have?

He couldn’t dwell on that right now. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Tossing Cas’s lighter back onto his bedside table, he got up and stumbled to the window, shoving it open in the hopes that the air might sober him up a little.

Gabriel seemed to think Crowley might have had something to do with all this. It made sense to an extent, Dean thought. Perhaps Crowley was trying to cause a stir in the Angel community, get their proverbial feathers ruffled to the point of distraction so he could move in on their turf. It was no secret that Crowley wanted more of the city for himself… but why target Cas specifically?

Maybe Cas was an easy target—all doe eyes and awkward conversation skills… or maybe it really just a wrong place, wrong time sort of situation. Still, Dean would have thought Balthazar’s death would have stirred things up in the Angel ranks all by itself. He really didn’t know why blame had to be laid.

…and then there was the fact that the Angels were so certain it was Cas. Considering Crowley and all of his goons were their enemies, Dean would have thought he’d have at least been on the list of possible suspects.

Dean frowned, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

Was there something Cas still wasn’t sharing?

He needed answers, and there were few places he could go for them. He also knew he likely wouldn’t be walking away from any of these places unscathed…

Best get bruised now and be healed up by the wedding, he supposed.

 

The punch to the face Dean had prepared for; the knee to the solar plexus, not so much.

He’d waited until the next night to slip down to the docks, hoping on crashing a poker game without revealing his identity as a sleuth. So far, that part of his plan had worked out. When this newcomer had shown up out of the blue and proceeded to win every game—that had probably been a bad move on his part. Dean supposed he just couldn’t help himself when he had a couple of glasses of liquid courage in him.

“Bastard,” one of them spat. Dean was fairly sure he’d been called Brady. He’d seemed amicable during the games themselves, but Dean had known right off that he was the type of guy he wouldn’t even use as a front door mat if the opportunity presented itself. The proverbial slime oozed out of him, sullying any kind of tailored look he had with his suit and coifed hair.

“Hey now,” Dean said, holding up a hand in defense, already able to taste the familiar copper of blood rolling down the back of his throat. “No hard feelings. Let me buy you fellows a drink or two, square it out, all right?”

That was enough to get the attack to stop for the moment, though he doubted that would be the end of it if he didn’t choose his words carefully.

“Don’t think a couple of drinks is gonna make up for the fact that you just showed up here and cheated us,” Brady said, wiping the blood off of his knuckles onto a handkerchief. Dean sort of wanted to roll his eyes. “Who are you and what the fuck do you really want?”

“Said it before,” Dean said, getting back to his feet and dusting himself off. “Heard there were games down at the docks and wanted to let off some steam. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a cheat, all right? Just damned good.”

That earned him another sock to the jaw, but it didn’t wipe the smirk from his face. He held his hands up defensively, feeling his lip split open and the familiar sting to his jaw that signified the beginnings of a bruise. “I came here to play with the best, and I heard Crowley was the best,” Dean said. “Obviously, he isn’t here.”

“You’re a cop,” another fellow—Marcus, Dean thought his name was, said.

“If I was a cop, I wouldn’t have even sat down to play, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have come alone. The bulls in this town are stupid, but they’re not that stupid. Come on, I’ve heard about what you guys do. I don’t want to end up face down in the river. I want in.”

“ _In_?” Brady queried, skeptical. “So you think you just show up here, hope to beat the boss in a card game, and he just lets you into our group?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder.

“You are pretty stupid,” Brady said.

“All I’m saying is in this town you gotta have a side if you wanna make it out alive, and I’d rather run with you. Those Angels are too damned uptight, too high and mighty. They’re gonna get what’s coming to them.”

Dean wiped the blood off of his chin with the back of his hand, acting casual despite the tense air. “So, drinks?”

 

Truth be told, Dean was grateful Crowley wasn’t in the gambling circle the night he arrived. He hadn’t come face to face with Crowley before, no, but he was certain word had gotten back to him about who he was. Sam had run in his circles for a while after all, and it was no secret that Dean had been busted in the same circles. He knew that these guys weren’t loyal enough to care too much what Dean was up to as long as he wasn’t coming after them, but he also knew they weren’t about to spill any secrets while sober.  
   
He didn’t necessarily enjoy having to shell out so much money (these boys didn’t drink cheap, despite the hole in the wall they were at) just to loosen some tongues, but, then again, he had won against the house so much that night that it wasn’t exactly his own money he was spending.  
   
For all their (questionably) designer suits, the Devil’s Trap boys got as rambunctious as teenagers sneaking the good stuff after only a few glasses. It was easy for Dean to nurse the one beer he had, acting like he was drinking more without really doing so, since another person at the table was always quick to snatch up a drink supposedly ordered for him.  
   
From the resigned look that bartender kept sending their way, Dean was inclined to take this as typical behavior.  
   
“So…” Dean only just barely managed not to roll his eyes when the rest of his words were lost in an uproar over… Oh, who even knew anymore? Dean had given up trying to keep track ages ago.

  
“ _So_ ,” he tried again, louder this time, “is this your guy’s favored meet up or something?”  
   
“You’re awfully curious, Wess…Win… _you_.” Brady still had some of the swagger from earlier, but it had been becoming more like a stagger throughout the night. “Guess that’s to be expected from someone still wet behind the ears, though.” He knocked back another drink he didn’t need, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand (yeah, that dignified air was definitely gone by now).

“Yeah, that’s me alright.” Good thing they were too far gone to catch sarcasm. “I was only asking because I could have sworn I heard about the boss wandering around somewhere up north side and something about a guy…” He tipped his head to the side. “Cas, I think it was?”

“Cas?” One of the guys who had been slouched over in his chair until now—Tom, Dean thought—eased himself up with a few long blinks. “Why does that…” He snapped his fingers repeatedly until his eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah! That’s Castiel, right? Guess the bastard’s back in town then.”

Dean must’ve not managed to cover up his surprise as well as he thought since Brady shifted his way with a conspiratorial air, although his voice was still far too loud. “He pulled off some kind of mad grift on the big guy himself. Not somethin’ I’d do…or anyone with enough brains in their head.” He shook his head. “The boss doesn’t suffer fools lightly.”

“Damn straight he doesn’t.” Dean sat up at that voice because, despite its low, smoky quality, it was definitely female. He wasn’t able to place it right away, but it all snapped into focus when the woman herself slid up behind Brady’s chair. “Which is why he sent me all the way over here to find out why you idiots bailed on your post.”

Meg. There was something scaly and poisonous lurking underneath that pretty face, but so many poor saps didn’t realize it until she twisted around to sink her teeth in. She could be found out on street corners or lounging around in seedy bars more often than not, although she was always the one choosing who she’d be deigning to let pay for her. And when she wasn’t at that she was coming up with other creative ways to separate people from their fat wallets.

It was a wonder that she actually put up with Crowley long enough to work for him. Then again, it was difficult to tell just who was using who when it came to their relationship.

“Aw, come on, Meg,” Brady said. “It’s not like there aren’t plenty of others that’ll worm their way in to ‘help out’.”

“Not the point.” Meg swatted Brady upside the head when he snorted without so much as glancing in his direction. “The point is that it’s supposed to be  _your_  job. Hence why you should be doing it and not slacking off.”

“Hey, we are doing a job,” Tom piped up. “Of a sort.” He waved—or maybe a better term would be flung—a hand in Dean’s general direction. “We’re buttering up a possible recruit.”

“Really now.” It was a good thing that Meg chose to sit on the other side of the table since Dean didn’t think he had the self-control left not to try leaning away from her if she tried to get any closer. “Looks like he’s doing the buttering up instead.” She stole a drink, kicking the owner of it under the table when he tried to complain.

“Say Meg,” Brady said, “wasn’t that Cas guy a mark of yours in the past?”

… _What?_

“Wouldn’t exactly call it that.” Meg tapped her finger against the rim of her glass and the way her lips were curving up was nothing Dean liked. Not at all. “I took him on special, no extra charge. He looked way too innocent for a grown man. I just couldn’t help myself—I had to take a taste.”

She shook her head. “It’s a good thing I got him before the war, though.”

“And why’s that?” Dean hadn’t meant to speak at all—least of all to Meg—but there his own voice was, hovering around in the air, so he must have at some point.

Meg’s eyes slid lazily over to him, but there was a gleam of something there; something that didn’t speak of her usual confidence. “Cause he’s got demons even I wouldn’t touch now,” she said. “At least people like me know our dark sides. Cas only keeps his at bay by letting it swallow up others…and he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.”

Dean thought of Balthazar, the entity that he still didn’t have a face to match to. He even thought of Anna with something unknown coursing through her veins. And then he thought of Cas, who seemed so damn harmless, like a rumpled tax accountant, but was always looking over his shoulder, as if bracing for someone to attack.

“That’s enough for me.” Dean was only dimly aware of the cries for him to stay. He could stand firm on his feet, but there was a rush in his ears, like static blaring out of a radio.

“Was it something I said?” Meg kept her eyes wide, playing at innocence, but her darkly painted lips—the same shade as blood, so cliché—were curved up into something nasty.

“Course not,” Dean muttered. “Just got a big day tomorrow.”

“Right.” Meg tipped her head back to stare at Dean as he moved past her chair. “Give my regards to Cas. Poor boy needs all the help he can get.”

Her laughter followed Dean out, loud and shrill like some sort of harpy… or a battle cry.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Five.** _

Dean supposed he should have checked the time before he showed up at Cas’s apartment, but by the time the door opened, it was a bit too late for that.

Cas was dressed down in a pair of blue-striped pajamas that had clearly seen better days. His hair was a mess and eyes hazy, and though Dean wasn’t entirely certain he’d been asleep, he was certain he had at least interrupted an attempt at it. He found it a bit hard to care.

“Dean?” Cas queried, bewildered. “What happened to your face?”

Dean wasn’t drunk, but he was just intoxicated enough to think muscling his way into Cas’s apartment was fair and made sense. Cas stumbled backwards as the front door slammed behind Dean, flinching at the sound, hands balling into fists almost on instinct. Dean turned his eyes on him, jaw set. When he spoke his voice was soft but carried a threat with it. “You got any information you wanna share with the rest of the class, Cas?”

“What… are you talking about?” Cas asked, back pressed against a wall. He’d gone stone still which was oddly unsettling. It was as if he was waiting for Dean to attack him.

Dean didn’t want to fight. All he wanted was answers. “I’m talking about how you used to run with Crowley’s gang!” he shouted. “You thought I wouldn’t figure that out?”

Truly, no one had ever said Cas ran in Crowley’s circles, and in the light of day he was sure he would regret accusing Cas of such a thing… or at least, he would have been, had Cas not immediately spoken up.

“I don’t see why it’s relevant.”

Dean’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “Not rel… not _relevant_ ,” he said, breathless at the absurdity. “You thought it was _irrelevant_ that you’ve been going between the two groups of people in this city that hate each other the most? You thought _that_ was not important?”

“It… it was before the war,” Cas said, and then added, “you need to calm down.”

If Dean had been drunker, he probably would have punched Cas. “Look. Cas,” he said, voice teetering on the edge of exploding. “I want to help you. I really do… but you’re making it goddamned difficult.”

Cas looked at the floor then, quiet.

“Why the fuck,” Dean started again, voice still edged with intent, “did I hear about this from a prostitute?”

“Why did you instantly believe her over me?” Cas asked.

Dean sagged, sighing. “You haven’t given me a whole lot of reasons to trust you, Cas. I know you didn’t kill your friends. I know that’s not who you are… but I’m never going to be able to put the finger on who did if I don’t have all the pieces. This working relationship we’ve got, it isn’t going to work with secrets. You’ve got to tell me the truth.”

“Fine,” Cas muttered. “Sit. I’m going to get my kit.”

Dean wasn’t sure what kit Cas was referring to until he returned from down the apartment’s hall, carrying a box filled with bandages, cotton balls, and antiseptic. Dean was sitting in the armchair from the day before by then, so Cas took a seat on the coffee table itself, pouring a bit of the alcohol onto a cotton ball and dabbing it against Dean’s busted lip. “They beat you up pretty badly.”

“I almost look as bad as you did when you showed up in my office,” Dean said, smirking a little only for it to die with a flinch at the ache when Cas pressed against his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken. “So talk.”

“There isn’t much to…” Cas began, but then decided against it, shaking his head and starting again. “I… was a dope peddler for the Devil’s Trap for a bit… but it wasn’t by choice. I did what I had to do to protect Anna.”

“Anna?” Dean asked, unconsciously tilting his head a bit into Cas’s hand while the other cleaned the blood off of his jaw.

“Crowley got her hooked on the stuff,” Cas explained. “It was a nasty habit she couldn’t quite break… and I knew that if the Angels found out what was happening, where she was getting her supply, they’d accuse her of trading secrets, call her a traitor, have her offed. Crowley was going to let the word get out, thought it might upset the ranks. Maybe Anna _was_ selling him secrets, I don’t know. Maybe he just thought it would be fun to watch, or maybe the infighting would give him the opportunity he needed to take the rest of the city. I… I told him I’d work for him, make him some good money, as long as he kept mum about Anna’s problem.”

“You didn’t actually believe he would, did you?” Dean snorted.

“No,” Cas said, placing a bandage over the bridge of Dean’s nose. Apparently the skin had split open when he’d been hit. “I just thought it would keep him quiet long enough for me to get Anna off of the stuff, or at least to get her out of town before the fire broke out.”

“So what happened?”

“I sold whatever Crowley wanted me to. He was short a few peddlers after a big raid of one of their rings, so he needed someone to pick up the slack. I did whatever he asked, and I was good at it too. No one suspects a guy like me to be pushing drugs… but I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to keep having the same conversation with Anna, telling her how much I was putting on the line for her only for her to tell me that I didn’t understand.”

Dean swallowed hard, thinking of Sam.

Cas shook his head, setting aside the kit, pushing Dean’s hair back off of his forehead to check for any other injuries. It reminded Dean of how his mother used to comb her fingers through his hair when he was a child. “You need something cold for the swelling,” Cas said, getting up and disappearing into the kitchen area. Dean could hear him rummaging around in the ice box. When he returned, he had a raw steak. He let Dean press it over his eye on his own.

“So… I go to her place one night,” Cas continued, sitting on the coffee table’s top again despite the fact that he was finished tending to Dean. “I had just made an impressive sale. I’ve got the money in my pocket… I was going to try to talk her out of it again, but…”

Dean watched Cas with his one good eye, watched as the light dimmed in his eyes at the memory, lips parting slightly as if there was no word to describe what he’d witnessed.

“Cas,” Dean said, voice shockingly gentle.

“She was dead,” Cas said bluntly because he found no other way to say it. “She took too much. There was nothing I could do for her anymore… except protect her memory.”

“So what’d you do?” Dean asked. The room felt too quiet even with their voices, as if the silence was smothering them.

“I got rid of what she had left, cleared out any evidence of it, and then I left town with the money I had. I joined up on the warfront and planned to never come back… but I was injured on the battlefield. I was sent back to my last known address, which was here, and by then I didn’t really have the means to go anywhere else… I told Balthazar about what happened, and he was going to smooth it over, or try to. He wanted me to come back though, and I… I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t fall back into that bad habit because I knew it would eventually kill me, just like Anna’s did.”

“…and whoever bumped off Balthazar was making sure there was no one left to go to bat for you.”

Castiel stared blankly at Dean a touch longer than was comfortable. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Crowley wants his money, and he wants to stir things up with the Angels. It gives him every reason in the world to pin all this on you. All I’ve got to do is prove it.”

“Dean, if you’re going to get beaten up like this…”

“A few bruises are nothing to me.”

Castiel’s lips thinned. He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t comment on it. “Dean… I’m sorry… I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, I just—“

“I get it,” Dean interrupted, surprising Cas if the tiny jump was any indication.

“You do?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. There are just some things… you want to put behind you. My point still stands though. If you know something I don’t, or if you remember _anything_ … you gotta tell me. All right?”

Castiel’s eyes were so blue as they met Dean’s, it made Dean’s heart thump in an odd way. “I will,” Cas said, then again. “I will.”

Dean managed a smile despite everything. Cas must have had an effect on people like that.

Cas moved off of the coffee table, hunting down his cigs from the piles of clutter, sighing when he couldn’t find a lighter. “So… who’d you hear all this from, anyway? Meg?”

“That would be her,” Dean said, holding up his own lighter, thinking of Cas’s lighter still sitting on his bedside table back home. “She said you were special. No extra charge.”

“Crowley sent her as a… _reward_ for a job well done, or at least that what I was told. I think he was trying to make sure I wasn’t trying to play him…” He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing a bit as he leaned over to light his cigarette.

“Do you often spend your time with prostitutes?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that important?” Cas asked, and for some reason it made Dean’s heart thud again. “No, I don’t… Like I said, Crowley sent her… Meg can be quite convincing, and she’s not as cruel as she seems at first glance.”

“You sound almost fond of that.”

“…and you seem angry by it.”

Dean jolted in surprise, watching the smoke billow from Cas’s lips and make its way towards the ceiling. “I’m not _angry_ by it. I don’t trust her.”

“You trusted her enough to take her word about me.”

It was astounding to Dean how Cas could say something that, from anyone else, would be a shot at him… and yet, when Cas said it, it was just what it was. A fact. A statement.

It was enough to leave Dean speechless.

Cas took another drag off of his cigarette and then offered it to Dean, removing the steak from Dean’s eye to check the swelling. “It looks a bit better.”

 _Shit_ , Dean thought. What was it about Cas that drew a fellow in like a moth to flame? He’d already proven not to be as innocent and gentle as first portrayed. A small part of Dean wanted to throw his hands up and refuse to go further with this job… but despite the lies and despite the secrets, Dean couldn’t let this one go.

He took the offered cigarette and took a drag off of it, not wanting to continue that train of thought for now. “Who needs a wife? Seems like you can clean me up just fine, eh?”

Cas blinked and then promptly busied himself taking the meat back into the kitchen.

“Is there anything else you need from me, Dean?” Cas asked, leaning out from the doorway a few moments later.

Dean lowered the cigarette, exhaling a ghost of smoke. “No, I think everything’s crystal clear.” The cloud hung around his face, distorting his view of Cas, his kitchen, and his blue, blue eyes.

 

Dean didn’t remember how Meg had mentioned Cas’s demons until he had left Cas’s apartment. He didn’t know what she’d meant by that, and frankly he wasn’t convinced. Sure, the guy held a lot of guilt, enough to fill every building in the godforsaken city, but demons… the guy was practically an angel, and not just the mobster kind. Cas was a _good_ guy, a rare find, and Dean suspected his interest in Cas was because of that.

Considering how angry he’d been earlier, it was odd to realize the thought of Cas drew a smile to his face.

The smile was quickly wiped away when he turned a corner only to be slammed against a nearby wall. His first thought was _Crowley_ —but then he noticed the tattoos on their arms.

“Angels,” he said.

Dean recognized one as the one they called Raphael. Dean didn’t know much about him, but he knew enough to be aware that he wasn’t here to talk to Cas or anyone else. Even if he hadn’t known, the gat another—Bartholomew, Dean believed was his nickname—had trained on him drove the point home.

“Well, well, looks like Cas has a buddy,” a third Angel—one Dean didn’t know the name of—said.

“One of _Crowley’s_ buddies,” Bartholomew said, pressing the pistol against Dean’s temple. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fill you with daylight.”

“Calm down,” Raphael said gently, and yet he was entirely more terrifying. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“He came directly from Crowley’s circle to here. That answers enough questions for me,” the unnamed one said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not working for Crowley,” Dean said, cringing, “and I don’t know any Cas.”

“Don’t play us for fools,” Raphael said, that eerie calm still hanging in his voice. It made Dean’s blood stall in his veins, like it was suddenly frozen solid. Even if Bartholomew had the gun on him, Dean knew Raphael was the one to be afraid of. “You came directly to Cas’s apartment building from a bar where you were seen with some of the boys from Crowley’s gambling ring.”

“Those guys are in the mob?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. They didn’t seem to think the statement was as funny as Dean did, because he was slammed against the wall again, head smacking against the brick and causing his ears to ring.

“I swear, I swear,” Dean found himself stammering before he could help himself. He had to play this as close to the vest as possible if he didn’t want to end up with a bullet in his skull. He was well aware of how it looked, and he doubted the Angels were over on this part of town to have a chat with Cas. “I don’t know who this Cas guy is, I swear. I was just coming to see my gal.”

He didn’t know where the lie had come from, but he was grateful it was convincing enough.

“Ain’t a guy allowed to walk down the street after having a drink or two?” Dean asked, hoping his expression seemed innocent. “I don’t know those guys. We were just having a few. I don’t want a part of any of that trouble.”

“You sure look like the kind of fellow that enjoys trouble,” the unnamed one said.

“Zachariah,” Raphael warned.

Well, that answered that much at least.

“Look at his face, Raphael. Somebody hates this guy.”

“Doesn’t really explain your face,” Dean directed at Zachariah, a corner of his mouth turning up.

…he supposed that didn’t really qualify as playing close to the vest, but he couldn’t help himself. At least it only earned him a punch to the gut hard enough cause him to crumple over. He would take that over a bullet any day.

He was glad he’d taken the beating earlier, really. If he hadn’t they probably would have been able to place him, regardless of the darkness concealing his features. Bruises were a free and easy disguise.

“My girl patched me up,” Dean said, voice pinched as he tried to remember how to breathe. The sock to the jaw didn’t deter him from talking. “I’ll fetch her. I’ll let her tell you herself. I was just here to see her, I swear. I don’t want any trouble… Please…”

Dean was no beggar, but he could play the part of one just fine. He just hoped they’d show some mercy long enough for him to get the slip on them… but he feared getting away from them wouldn’t be all he needed to do. They were clearly worked up enough to decide to take care of Cas one way or another, and Dean would bet money that the bullet in Bartholomew’s chamber was for him. He didn’t just need to escape them; he needed to incapacitate them and get Cas out of here. He wished he had a way to warn him of the trouble here and now in this dirty alleyway, but all he could do now was put his head into it.

Well… that was one idea.

Dean rose back to his full height, sputtering a bit more dramatically than need be. It was in that moment where his attackers gave pause that he preceded to head-butt Raphael forehead-to-forehead. In the confusion, the gun went off, and Zachariah made a grunting noise. The next thing Dean knew, his fist was connecting with Bartholomew’s jaw. Dean was certain he’d knocked out a few teeth before his skull connected with the ground as he was thrown down, skull cracking against the pavement. For several seconds, he could hear nothing and all he saw were stars… and then there was the sound of sirens.

Dean lifted his head, tasting fresh blood, feeling his recently tended wounds seeping through the bandages. The Angels had bolted in a panic, and Dean knew that, if he didn’t want to be dragged in for questioning over the gunfire, he needed to do the same… but first things first…

He climbed the steps of Castiel’s apartment building two at a time and pounded on the door as loudly as he had before. Cas hadn’t even had time to return to bed so he was there in moments, slightly pale (though whether that was because of the gunshots outside of his apartment or because of the knocking Dean couldn’t be sure).

“Dean—“ he started, but Dean didn’t let him continue.

“Pack a bag. We gotta get you out of here. Now.”

“You’re a mess.”

“ _Cas_.”

Cas took the hint from the tone in Dean’s voice, nodding curtly and hurrying back to his room. Dean took a moment to wipe the blood off of his chin with the back of his hand. He was sure that his nose was broken this time.

Cas was back and dressed in minutes, carrying a small suitcase crammed hastily with clothes. “Dean, what happened?” he asked as he fumbled with his keys, locking them out of the place. Dean just grabbed Cas by the wrist and dragged him towards the stairs.

“The Angels were coming to kill you. We’ve got to get you somewhere safe. I’m taking you back to my joint. Keep your head down and don’t talk until we’re there, got it?”

“I… I got it,” Cas stammered, looking back over his shoulder at the door as it disappeared from view. When they were outside Dean spit blood into the gutter and hailed a cab, shoving Cas inside of it first before following suit. As the car pulled out onto the street in the direction of home, the sky opened up, rain pattering against the roof.

“Dean. Dean…”

Cas sounded far away.

Dean lifted his head only to find the world tilt around him. Cas was shouting his name now, but it was just an echo, as if he’d shouted it from the other side of a canyon. He felt a hand on his face, across his ear, up against his temple, and then…

 _Nothing_.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Six.** _

When Dean stirred, he could still hear the rain, but it was softer now. Soon enough his ears picked up on the quiet ticking of a clock, and he realized he could smell cigarette smoke and old cologne.

Gingerly, Dean ventured to open his eyes.

He was back in his bedroom, the only light sliding in from the streetlamp through the blinds. He blinked a few times, sniffing… and that was when he became aware of the _pain_. It struck inside his head like lightning and settled there like thunder, making him instantly nauseous.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling onto his back, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye.

“Careful,” a voice said gently. Dean’s aching, _aching_ head first thought of Bobby, but the timbre was younger, softer.

“Cas?” he asked hazily, his own voice feeling like it was booming inside his skull. He vaguely remembered fetching Cas from his apartment, but everything after that was empty. He must have gotten beaten up worse than he thought…

“Don’t move if you can help it. You got concussed pretty badly, I think.”

Cas had moved into the stripes of light painted across his bed, revealing an eye, a corner of his mouth, a hand as it reached out to touch Dean’s hair. “Do you do this often?” Cas asked, a rueful smile on his face.

“Get beaten up?” Dean snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time. How did… How did I get in here?”

“Your friend Bobby helped me carry you up the stairs. I tended to your wounds as best as I could, but you should probably go to the hospital.”

“Get me a cigarette and a good night’s sleep and a glass of whiskey and I’ll be fine… we weren’t followed, right?”

“The downpour would have helped even if we had been. I think the others had scrammed after the shots were fired though… Dean…”

“You can’t leave this place, all right? Not until everything’s settled. If they see you, they’ll bump you off… but you’ll be safe here.”

“Dean, I can’t let you keep doing things like this. You could’ve died.”

“Comes with the territory, Cas.” He didn’t know if Cas was aware that he’d started to stroke Dean’s hair, but he hoped that he wouldn’t stop.

“This… proving my innocence isn’t worth more blood, Dean.”

“I knew what I was getting into when I took the job. I ain’t backing out now.”

He heard Cas huff indignantly, but he didn’t try to argue again. Instead, he asked, “How’s your head?”

“Hurts… but s’fine…” Dean mumbled, eyes closing.

“Why did they attack you? I don’t understand the benefit.”

“It was all they needed, I guess. I got chummy with some of Crowley’s goons down at the bar in order to get the wire on things… and I guess they saw me there, saw me come back to your place. Maybe that was proof enough for them that you were working for the Devil’s Trap… I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Don’t apologize… It wasn’t your fault… but why would they be trailing you from the bar?”

“Probably noticed I wasn’t familiar, or maybe it was just chance. Either way, they were ready to take you down. I couldn’t let them do that.”

“My life shouldn’t be worth risking yours for. You barely know me.”

“I know a good guy when I see one, Cas… and you are one. You just got trapped in a bad situation… It’s my job to help you get out of it, not just because you paid me… but because I want to.”

Cas was silent, and for several moments the room was still. Then, Cas slowly laid down on the empty side of the bed he’d been previously sitting on. The old cologne and smoke smell Dean had gotten from his pillow was almost instantly replaced with a smell that was just distinctly _Cas_ , and oddly enough it soothed the ache behind his eyes.

“I’m not as good as you seem to think, Dean,” Cas said so softly that Dean thought he may have imagined it. Soon enough it was all drowned out by the sound of the rain, and Dean slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

  
When Dean woke up it was hard to find a part of him that didn’t throb with pain. Even through the pounding in his head, though, it didn’t take him long to realize that there was someone in the room and that someone certainly wasn’t Cas. There was a familiar hand to push him back down onto the bed when he tried to surge up to see who it was.

“Bobby?”

“Guess I’m a lot less pretty than the face you expected to wake up to.” Bobby shook his head. “Your man is downstairs fixin’ up breakfast of all things.”  
There wasn’t anything all that disapproving in Bobby’s tone, but that didn’t stop Dean from sitting up indignantly. Metaphorically that was; he was pretty sure Bobby might actually give him another bruise if he tried to actually do it. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobby said. “Cas already babbled the whole mess out when he dragged your bleeding ass back here. Apparently this is gonna be the only safe place for him until you finish the job.” He sighed. “Which, unfortunately, is gonna have to take a little while longer.”  
“What?” Even Bobby’s glare wasn’t enough to keep Dean from propping himself up this time. “No, Bobby, I have to get back out there. It’s the only way to—”

“To get yourself killed.” Bobby was in fine form this morning. “You’ve got both gangs crawling around the streets in search of you now. All you’re gonna accomplish if you go out there right now is dragging them down on all our heads. Best to wait at least a day or more before charging out there again. It’ll give you a chance to heal up before you decide to go get your ass handed to you again.”

He turned towards the bedside table and Dean grimaced at all the pill bottles he saw there. He still swallowed the handful of pills passed his way, though, since he knew better than to struggle once he’d been beat but he wound up balking at the bandages. “Come on,” he said, “I don’t really need all that.”

“You do when you decide to get half of yourself close to broken,” Bobby said, “and that’s not even counting all the scrapes you racked up.” He lifted his eyebrows when Dean scowled at him. “Unless you’d prefer for your boy to come up here and do it.” He didn’t laugh when Dean instantly started to sputter but it was clearly a close thing.

“He’s not ‘my’ anything, other than my client,” Dean protested, wincing when Bobby began to clean a cut on his forehead.

“Right.” Dean was as familiar with Bobby’s disbelieving tone as he was with his disapproving one. “You might want to tell him that then.”

Dean focused on the cool burn of iodine instead of the way that simple sentence was enough to send his stomach lurching through summersaults. “Why?” he asked. “I’d only be telling him what he already knows.”

Bobby groaned and Dean didn’t need to look up to know that he was rolling his eyes. “I’d knock you one if I wasn’t so sure it’d crack your head open.” He fit a small strip of bandaging over Dean’s brow, already moving onto his nose, which wasn’t broken only through the sheer force of some sort of luck. “Well at least we know one thing for sure.”

“That I’m an idiot?” It was what Dean had been hearing his whole life; Bobby was just the only one who had ever made it sound like an endearment.

“That you both are,” Bobby said. “Which makes you the perfect pair if you’d both just pull your heads out of your asses long enough to realize it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, flinching as Bobby cleaned the split of his lip. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I ain’t no Nance, Bobby. He’s my client, and he’s trouble, even if he is a good guy. I want to get this settled as soon as possible.”

Bobby snorted but said nothing more.

 

Dean knew Bobby wasn’t happy to see him come downstairs, but he at least placated him by assuring him it was just for breakfast.

Cas was at the stove, pushing some rather runny looking eggs onto a plate. The toasted bread next to it was nearly blackened, but at least the sausage links looked all right. “You cook breakfast a lot, Cas?” Dean asked, a slight snicker in his voice until Cas actually turned and looked at him.

“No,” he said softly. “I just thought… I should do something, since I’m staying here.”

Dean swallowed around his guilt and said, “Well, it looks great. Thanks.” He hoped he sounded convincing.

“How’s your head?” Cas asked.

“I’ll survive.”

Cas looked down at the plate he’d just handed to Dean and then towards where Bobby had been sitting. The old man had left the room at some point, leaving them alone. Dean suspected it had something to do with their earlier conversation.

“Dean,” Cas said, drawing his attention back to him. He was still looking at Bobby’s empty chair. “I appreciate all you’ve done, and I’ll still pay you… but this is getting too dangerous. You don’t have to do all of this. I’ve been involved with both sides of this. I know how ruthless they are.”

Dean set the plate aside and took Cas by the shoulders. “Don’t be a bunny, Cas. I know how to handle myself.”

“They nearly bashed open your skull just for being in my apartment,” Cas protested.

“Yeah, and they’re not going to stop just because I stopped sniffing around. I’m in too deep, Cas, so I’m gonna come out on the other side. It’s all I can do. Don’t worry so much.”

Cas pursed his lips, chest rising and falling as he fought back the urge to object further. Dean didn’t understand how Cas could care so much, considering how little he knew about Dean. Maybe he was just that type of guy.

Before Dean even realized it, Cas had turned away, only to turn back, handing Dean a mug of coffee. “I may not be able to cook breakfast, but this I can do.”

Dean looked down at the dark pool of liquid, took a drink. His eyes widened in surprise, and he stammered, “This… this is the best damned coffee I’ve ever tasted. I didn’t even know we had coffee.”

“I asked Bobby to buy some,” Cas said. “I gave him the money for it. I thought it would be… nice.”

“It is,” Dean said, taking another swallow of it. “Thanks.”

When Cas looked down this time, it was a bashful gesture. With his hair loose from its usual coif, Dean could see the hint of a scar hidden beneath it. He wanted to reach out and touch, to ask questions, but he didn’t know if he should dare. Cas’s personal life wasn’t his business if it didn’t regard the case. Bobby had already implied that they were a bit closer than a gumshoe and a client should be, and he didn’t want him to get any other crazy ideas.

Still… Cas was doing all this because Dean had brought him here. He’d barely had time to throw some clothes in a bag, and now he was cooped up in an unfamiliar place for God knew how long. He was certainly trying to make the best of it, but it definitely wasn’t ideal. “Cas… I’m sorry about all this. I’m sorry you’re stuck here.”

Cas was pouring his own cup of coffee by then, but he did offer Dean a glance. “Dean, you did this to protect me. I’d be a bit of a bastard to complain. Besides, it’s actually nice… My joint can get pretty quiet a lot of the time… pretty lonely… a change of scenery is refreshing.”

“We don’t even have a room for you here,” Dean said sheepishly.

“I don’t mind sharing. I shared a room with plenty of other fellows when I was overseas fighting… Dean, you’re disregarding the fact that it’s for my safety. When I hired you, I didn’t expect for you to go this far for me… No one ever has. You could throw me in a basement and I would still be appreciative. Now you’re the one who needs to stop worrying so much.”

Dean didn’t think he’d ever get over the guileless way Cas explained things. All he could do was nod and try not to smile too much. As uncommon as it was for Cas to have people fight for him, it was just as uncommon for Dean to find someone grateful.

Maybe they were a more perfect pair than he’d first thought.

 

Dean wasn’t able to sneak out of Bobby’s place until sometime in the afternoon. He’d made certain Bobby was hard at work on something and that Cas was snoozing on the sofa before putting on his coat and hat and taking a cab to his office.

He wasn’t planning on going against Bobby’s orders necessarily, but he knew he certainly needed to regroup and the best place to do that was in the office away from all the noise. The head injury had scrambled his thoughts a bit, but all the pieces were still there, and he thought that perhaps laying them out would help him understand what his next move should be.

All thought of such things went flying out the window, however, when he entered his office to find a man sitting at his desk, legs propped up on the top and crossed at the ankles. He was well dressed in all black, as if he’d just come from a funeral, and he was smoking a cigar.

“Been waiting for you all day, Winchester,” the man said in a soft, smoky, English tone. Dean doubted the man had actually been there long, but he found he didn’t care.

“How did you get in here?” Dean asked, voice low. “Crowley.”

“You think a king crime boss doesn’t know how to pick a lock?”

Dean felt a muscle jump in his jaw. He didn’t move from the doorway.

Crowley rolled his eyes, setting aside his cigar. “Come on, Dean, you didn’t honestly expect I wouldn’t hear about you sticking your nose into my poker games? I’ve had tabs on you since the last time you got involved in business that didn’t concern you.”

“Business that didn’t concern me? You got that harpy of a dope peddler to sink her claws into my brother,” Dean growled.

“First of all, harpies have talons, not claws,” Crowley said, letting his feet thud onto the floor as he sat up in Dean’s chair. “Second, what your brother did with my dope peddler was his own business. Perhaps they wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t been snooping about my territory. That raid you got involved in was bad for business for both of us, you know.”

“You don’t seem to be having any trouble.”

“A leader knows how to manage without climbing inside of a bottle,” Crowley replied, a Cheshire Cat smile on his face.

Dean nearly lurched himself into the room, prepared to drag Crowley by the shirt collar over his desk, but Crowley was already standing by the time he got there.

“Temper, temper,” Crowley said, and then his smile was absolutely gone. “You’re the one who started this game, Winchester, so there’s no purpose in getting angry with me. Your need to blame your brother’s faults on someone else is your own bloody business… now, let’s talk about _my_ business.”

Dean was frozen on the other side of the desk, fists balled up at his sides.

“I know a detective such as yourself wouldn’t be prying if there weren’t some sort of purpose to it. Word around town is that you’ve been hired on by one Castiel Novak. Is that the truth?”

“Since when did you give a damn about the truth?”

“Since the difference between it and a lie could end up with _my_ head on a platter.”

Dean snorted, “and I’m supposed to care about this?”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, his anger simmering, but he never let it rise to a boil. “I already know you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I’ve seen, so I’m not even going to bother, but if you’re looking for who killed that Balthazar fellow, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I know you’ve got the urge to make this real personal, but that’s not how I play. Everything I’ve ever done is just business… and I’m telling you now—stay out of it.”

“Now why would I want to do that?” Dean asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Seems to me like you’re trying to scare me off for a reason. Seems to _me_ like you’ve got everything to gain.”

“That _reason_ is because you’re going to come to the wrong conclusion and it’s going to bollocks up _everything_ for _everyone_. You’re being played for a chump, but I don’t let people play me. I am the king, not the pawn. Why the bloody hell would I be here if I was responsible for all this?”

“You’re a man who likes to make a deal,” Dean said, leaning forward, planting his hands on the desk. “Maybe you want to bribe me to keep you out of the fire, but here’s the thing—the fire’s already started, and I know what you did, and all I gotta do is prove it… so here’s the _deal_. Get the fuck out of my office and I won’t pump you full of lead.”

Crowley lifted his cigar, unfazed by the low, dark timbre of Dean’s voice. He took a puff off of it, letting the smoke hang in Dean’s face, distorting his view. “I never was fond of you, you know, but I never took you for a fool. If you come around my area of town again, you’ll sincerely regret it.”

“I’m not afraid of you or any of those palookas you have doing your bidding.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware. Part of what makes you Winchesters so foolish is your lack of fear.”

“Yeah? What’s the other part?” Dean asked, lip curling into a sneer.

“Not knowing when to quit,” Crowley replied, promptly putting his cigar out on Dean’s desk. “I won’t come back here again. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when this all blows up in your bruised little face, yeah?”

He sauntered to the doorway, pausing to look over his shoulder and send one last barb in Dean’s direction. “Give Sam my regards… and tell Cas that I want the money he owes me. It’s well overdue. Ta, darling.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Dean standing alone in his office feeling like he’d just gone ten rounds in the ring. He’d been beaten half to death over the last couple of days, but only now did he feel genuinely sucker punched. He swallowed hard, staring at the door where Crowley had been, the smell of his Cuban still burning in the air.

He knew he was sniffing down the right path, he _knew_ … but Crowley’s warning not to go near his territory was not one to take lightly. Dean’s intentions to infiltrate, to find the proof he needed—that was impossible now, at least on his own. He’d have to find some other angle on it, some other place to dig in for clues.

He’d known getting involved in both mobs was going to be complicated, but he’d never suspected to be a target on both sides. He needed to get this case solved, and he needed to do it fast…

If he didn’t, he suspected the one pumped full of lead would be him.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Seven.** _

Dean could do nothing for the next two days but sit and try to gather his thoughts. Bobby seemed satisfied that he was taking it easy, at least, though he didn’t know the real circumstances. He hadn’t told him, nor had he told Cas about the encounter with Crowley, though he suspected he should inform the latter party before he found out on his own.

Still, he found himself hesitating, if only because that normal life Cas had been seeking seemed to have settled into his bones here. While Dean had always appreciated the roof over his head that Bobby had given him, he’d always felt a bit stifled in the place, but now that Cas was here that feeling had diminished. Cas took to domesticity like a (very awkward) fish to water, having cleaned and cooked and even just sat around reading whatever book on Bobby’s shelf that seemed to catch his fancy. He’d stare at the pages, sometimes longer than need be, brow furrowing as if in concentration. Not for the first time Dean wondered if it had to do with that scar, if it made it hard for him to concentrate sometimes, but there were some paths he knew better than to tread.

The domesticity was a bit refreshing, really, despite Dean’s usual urge to run as far from it as possible. While he’d learned not to trust that sort of happiness, he couldn’t help but crave it a bit. He’d put aside his thoughts more than once to teach Cas how to really cook eggs or to find a book on the shelf that he knew he’d like or to help him straighten up a little.

It was during one of these straightening up sessions that Cas gave pause over the bedside table, announcing after a beat, “This is mine.”

Dean looked up from where he was smoothing the bed clothes to see Cas holding the silver lighter he’d dropped in his office what felt like eons ago. “So it is,” Dean said.

“I thought I’d lost it,” Cas said, staring down at it, the lamp light gleaming against the pheasant carved into its side. “It was the one thing of Anna’s that I kept. She always had it on her when she was alive, and it was sitting on the table when I found her. I never could quite find it in me to get rid of it.”

Dean hesitated, standing back to his full height. Cas looked weirdly vulnerable in his shirtsleeves and suspenders and he didn’t want to bring up anymore bad blood from his entangled past with Anna. Still, after what Crowley had said about the money he owed, he had to ask. “What about the rest of it…? The stuff, I mean, at her place. What did you do with the drugs, Cas?”

“I told you before. I got rid of it,” Cas said, flicking the lighter on.

“How?”

Cas glanced at Dean, a reflection of the flame in each eye. “What do you mean?”

“Did you throw it in the river? Bury it? Or did you sell it?”

“I threw it away,” Cas said defensively. “Why does it matter?”

“Because…” Dean started but trailed off. Truth be told, it _didn’t_ matter. Whether he sold it or not, Cas owed Crowley money. He already knew that… but there was a part of him that had worried Cas was still lying to him even now. Maybe Crowley had gotten under his skin more than he thought, telling him that Cas was playing him for a chump. Maybe it all meant more to him than it should have.

Cas was still watching him, fingers wrapped around Anna’s lighter, gaze hesitant. Dean wanted to hide from him, to leave the room and pretend he hadn’t opened his stupid mouth.

“Dean… you’ve been hovering around here for days, and I know it’s not because Bobby told you to.”

“How would you know that?”

“Bobby said you never do what he tells you to do.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m just… spooked, all right? I went to my office to put some things together and… Crowley was waiting for me.”

Cas was quiet for a moment before asking, “What did he say?”

“He told me to stop digging or he’d put me in the ground.”

Dean imagined that, if he were speaking with Sam, Sam would have run his fingers through his hair and hissed out a _Jesus Christ_. Cas was nothing like Sam.

“What are you going to do?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet,” Dean said, sitting down on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I gotta find someone else to go in there, get me what I need. I can ask witnesses day in and day out, but without evidence it’s all hearsay and all useless.”

Dean felt the bed sink as Cas sat next to him. “There are people who would be willing to work with you, Dean, I’m sure of it… I know there are more people in this city than the mobs, people who… just want the fighting to stop. People who just want it to be over.”

“Yeah, well… I gotta find ‘em,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t in Crowley’s gang long enough to be very helpful here…” Cas said, hands fumbling over each other in his lap, “but I do know a lot of people who work for him aren’t exactly loyal.”

“You think they can be bought?”

“No, I think… I think there are people you could find that would be willing to help you just to watch him burn.”

Dean hummed. “I still gotta find ‘em.”

“You’ll have to ask the right people… Someone who was in for longer than I was but someone who could move seamlessly through that underworld like I did.”

A thought occurred to Dean then, one absolutely insane thought. There was a person he knew that very well could want to stick it to Crowley, but the challenge was if she was willing to work with him to do it. He tore his eyes away from Cas’s face as he thought and thought about it, weighing his options only to find he really didn’t have much. His time was limited here—if he wanted both he and Cas to live through this ordeal, he needed to get it taken care of fast.

He’d have to ask Ruby.

“I know exactly who to talk to,” Dean said softly. He let out a breath, shaking his head, knowing this was not going to be fun but at the same time relieved he had some sort of path to take. “God damn, Cas, I could kiss you right now.”

Cas blinked, head tilting slightly, almost as if he’d missed the teasing tone, as if he didn’t understand it was a joke.

Dean swallowed. The room suddenly felt very warm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Of course not,” Cas said, looking a bit ashamed of himself. “I know.”

Dean watched him for a moment, and then said something he probably shouldn’t have. “You sound disappointed.”

“Dean, I…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he stood, moving to the window to look out at the street through the blinds. “I’m not disappointed. I know how the world works. I’ve been in it long enough to learn where the lines are, even if I’ve crossed them. I know what the normal life I want entails… and what it doesn’t.” His eyes turned briefly towards Dean at that, but quickly went back to the outside world.

Dean felt like he was sitting in on a confession he wasn’t allowed to hear, but he didn’t dare move now.

“I’m not a good man,” Cas continued, voice as steady and frank as it always was. “I never have been… but I want to be. You are the person giving me that chance, and even now I don’t know if that is the driving force behind everything else or not. I care deeply about people, about humanity, Dean, but I’ve never been able to understand it. No matter where I’ve gone, I’ve been an outsider. Even now I suspect obtaining a normal lifestyle isn’t going to be easy for me because of that… but I must be honest when I say that I do share a bond with you, however one-sided or not. When I first came to your office, I took one look at you, and I knew that you would understand.”

“Understand…” Dean mouthed softly.

Cas just kept staring out the window, hands at his sides, expression neutral. “I am thankful to have found a friend in you, Dean,” he said after a bit. “I would never ask for anything more than that.”

“Cas…”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend he didn’t understand what Cas was implying… and he couldn’t pretend like he didn’t understand. Dean had told Bobby that Cas was nothing more than another client to him, but from the moment they’d met he’d felt the urge to see this through. Any sane man would have abandoned the case long ago, but Dean was putting his life on the line for a person he had barely met. He’d told himself before that it was because of Sam, that if he got his career off the ground again then he and Sam would reconcile… but Dean knew deep down that would never end the way he wanted it to. Sam had a whole life ahead of him, and Dean was… just Dean. He would always be here, slowly drinking himself to death, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, getting in just enough trouble to come out on the other side (most of the time). Dean both loathed and craved normality, and he suspected Cas was the same way. Sam was the only one who could manage it though, maybe because he was the only one who could really let go of what was already done. There was no going back, no changing it. This was how it was.

Dean got to his feet, shoes thumping against the floor as he closed the distance between he and Cas, taking him by the face in both hands and pressing their mouths together.

Dean had kissed other men before, briefly, during drunken nights in dark corners of his favorite bars. It had never led to anything, no, but he’d yearned for the affection back when things were particularly rocky between him and Sam. It was one of Dean’s many vices and his secret shame, but in the moment that he kissed Cas Novak it felt like neither. It just _was_ , just like everything else.

Cas must have been of a similar sentiment because he never hesitated in returning the kiss, hands taking hold of Dean’s arms as if to hold him in place. Dean felt momentarily dizzy in the scent of Cas’s cologne, the chapped skin of his lips, the scratch of his stubble. Cas was more experienced at it than Dean would have given him credit for—he always was full of surprises—and for a moment Dean felt clumsy and new, like the spark that had slid down his throat into his stomach and then shot out through his nerves had rebirthed him somehow.

The kiss ended as quickly as it started, but Dean found himself hovering in Cas’s space all the same, pressing their foreheads together. He was still a bit breathless, even if they hadn’t kissed for long. Maybe Cas just had the ability to knock the wind out of people like that, not that Dean minded.

“Cas,” he practically sighed, his breath ghosting over the other’s lips. “Good… normal… All of that shit’s relative. As far as I’m concerned, you’re already there.”

Cas’s hands squeezed Dean’s arms, his brow furrowing. Dean thought he was about to protest, possibly even break down, but instead Cas kissed him again, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him as close as possible. Dean had worried about Cas’s initial response, but not enough to stop this. It had been so long since he’d been touched.

Dean pressed him against the wall, breaking the kiss only long enough to get a breath, and then he was trailing down Cas’s jugular vein. The moan he elicited from Cas seemed to seep into Dean’s skin and spread like a wildfire. Dean’s fingers dug into the fabric over Cas’s hips, and he started to think that there were entirely too many articles of clothing between them.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice lower and gruffer than Dean had ever heard it. “Dean, we can’t do this… I can’t let you…”

Dean’s forehead pressed into the curve between Cas’s neck and shoulder, breath ragged. “Tell me to stop…”

Cas’s lips twitched, a slight and rueful smile. “I can’t,” he said, and when Dean kissed him again he inhaled sharply, nails digging into Dean’s shirt.

Dean let their legs slot together, a hand coming up to slide through Cas’s hair. He could feel the scar then, bumpy and raised on his scalp. For a brief moment the tiny room, the dim light, the lonely street outside all disappeared.

Dean was overwhelmed. He didn’t usually let himself lose control like this, and he sure as hell didn’t do it when he was sober. He was angry with himself for think of Crowley’s words again— _you’re being played for a chump_ … but Dean just couldn’t believe that line, not here, not like this. As he worked open a couple of buttons on Castiel’s shirt, revealing the hollow of his throat, the pale flesh of his chest that his heart thrummed underneath…

He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this.

“Tell me to stop,” Dean told him again, voice thick and wavering. “I’ll stop.”

“Please don’t stop,” Cas breathed, head thudding against the wall as he bared the whole of his neck to Dean, an offering to be devoured. “Dean…”

Cas said his name like a prayer, and for a sinner like himself, it was enough to send Dean to his knees. Dean glanced up at him, hands sliding over his thighs. Cas’s pupils were so wide Dean could see himself in them, his expression a bit frightened but not the least bit unsure of what he wanted.

“You might be more comfortable on the bed,” Cas suggested, so blunt and obvious that Dean nearly laughed.

Dean’s mouth curled into a smirk. He unhooked Cas’s suspenders, unbuttoned his trousers, and pulled them down to his knees, underwear and all. It was a bit of a silly sight, Dean thought, Cas with his shirt tails hanging on each side of his cock, expression nervous and expectant. It was also entirely more attractive than it should have been.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said. “I’ve done this before.”

“Dean— _ohh_ —“

That was all Cas managed to get out before Dean wrapped his mouth around him, looking up at him through his lashes to see the reaction. The drunken fumblings in bathroom stalls were nothing compared to this—of that Dean was immediately certain. Cas wasn’t half limp in his mouth or stammering drunkenly about how perfect Dean was for this. Dean had always hated that kind of dirty talk. No, Cas said nothing, instead letting his hand slide into Dean’s hair and take hold, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as Dean blew him.

There was always a small part of Dean that hesitated when he did things like this… He could recall the church sermons when he’d bothered to go, could still hear his father’s bitter voice in his head. He had seen more than his fair share of bruised and beaten queer fellows in his line of work, had heard even more horror stories when he’d been locked up in the big house with them. It was why all of his past encounters were quick and dirty and meant to be forgotten, meant to be excused with alcohol. Dean had always had a pretty face but he’d still looked tough enough not to be questioned and that had worked best for him. Dean always found it easiest to pretend he was seeking touch wherever he could find it. Attraction had nothing to do with it, and he never had to feel anything before or after. Like his whiskey, it was just a thing to help him get through the day.

Since Cas had moved in, Dean hadn’t touched that damned whiskey though, and on his knees before him Dean couldn’t find it in himself to feel shame, to feel nothing. He had never been good at allowing himself to want something, but he wanted this.

Maybe he had since the day the man had walked into his office.

Cas tugged at Dean’s hair with a whimper, and Dean could tell he was trying to stay quiet so as not to rouse any suspicion from Bobby. He couldn’t fully manage when Dean swallowed him down as far as he could, nose brushing against the dark pubic hair at the base. Cas half gasped, half yelped, hand pulling Dean’s hair all the harder, legs shaking underneath him.

Dean pulled off slowly, lips wet and smiling, chest heaving as he caught his breath. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, voice slightly hoarse.

“Yeah,” was all Cas said and met Dean with another kiss when Dean was standing at full height once more.

Before Dean even knew what was happening they were falling onto the bed, the mattress squeaking a bit under their body weight. They separated only to rid themselves of their clothing and then they were grabbing for one another once more. Dean hadn’t had skin-on-skin contact with a partner in months, but the time meant nothing. In fact, none of his past partners mattered to him.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas breathed against his skin, one hand gripping the muscle of his thigh.

Dean’s head thumped against the pillow, and he looked up. Cas was straddling him, his bare body on display. There were scars here and there, though none as bad as the one hidden beneath his hair. He was a bit thin, though if Cas’s cooking was any indication there was a reason for that. He was beaten down and broken up… and so goddamned beautiful.

Before Dean could express the sentiment, Cas said, “You’re so beautiful, Dean.”

The way Cas said it made it sound like it was a phrase not up for dispute, like Cas had looked down at Dean and seen the same things Dean had seen in him.

Cas leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean's surprisingly tenderly. Dean wasn’t entirely certain he’d ever been kissed in such a way, and briefly he thought he’d be forever satisfied just with that…

Then, Cas was wrapping his hand around Dean, his rough palm unfamiliar yet inviting, and all Dean could do was whine with need.

Cas rocked himself against Dean’s thigh, a little bit more clumsy in this aspect than he had been with the kissing, but he got a rhythm going before too long. Dean didn’t care.

“Cas, _fuck_ ,” he panted, hips jerking off the bed. “Here, just—“

Dean took Cas’s hand away and pressed himself against his thigh, giving them both the friction they needed. Rather than let go of Cas’s hand, however, he laced their fingers together.

They rolled their hips against each other, picking up speed. Dean knew there were other ways to do this, and he couldn’t help but wildly think about next time.

There had _never_ been a next time with Dean’s previous lovers.

“ _Cas_ —“ Dean’s voice was small and choked by then as he felt himself moving closer and closer to the edge.

Cas’s hand squeezed Dean’s, and he kissed him again. The kiss was a bit sloppy, leading Dean to believe he was close as well.

Dean met his gaze, smiling, and said, “You go first.”

The phrase caught Cas enough off guard that he actually did, forehead falling to press against Dean’s as he moaned, spilling onto Dean’s hip and thigh. Dean could feel Cas shaking through it, stroked his back, never let go of his hand.

Breathing shakily, Cas pressed his thigh further against Dean, burying his face into his sweat-slicked neck and whispered, “Your turn.”

Dean’s hand slid from Cas’s back to the nape of his neck, dragging him in for a kiss. As soon as their lips met, Dean did just as he was told.

He lost all senses for a brief moment, caught in nothing but the blood rushing in his ears, the waves of pleasure rolling through his body, and Cas, and Cas, and _Cas_.

When it was over he opened his eyes to find Cas had settled in beside him. Dean kissed him lazily, wanting to curl into him but needing to get up and clean himself off. He lingered several moments, watching and being watched, eerily at peace with himself and everything around him. He reached out and slid his hand through Cas’s hair again, feeling the scar again. Cas’s eyes fluttered shut, head tilting into the touch.

“It was the war,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “They sent me home because of it… I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway… You think you see things here, fighting with criminals… I never could’ve prepared myself for it, Dean…”

Dean curled closer to Cas. The cleanup could wait.

Cas fell asleep pressed against his chest, and Dean soon followed, only waking later in the evening on his own side of the bed to see Cas right where he’d left him. Bars of light had sneaked in through the blinds, spreading over Cas’s body, trapping him in a shadowy prison.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Eight.** _

Even with its tendency to attract corruption like flies gathering to a corpse, the justice system hadn’t discriminated that much when it came to Ruby’s fate. She had tried to work her pretty face to its fullest advantage, based on what details Bobby had been willing to share with him, but that had finally failed her in the end. She wound up being pinned down for even more than just the drug peddling and serving much more time than Dean because of it. And, even though she was in a “woman’s” penitentiary, the place where she was locked away wasn’t much better than the dump Dean himself had been stuck in.

Dean hadn’t said anything outside of the fact that he was diving back into work, but Bobby probably realized that there was something going on when he swore that he wouldn’t be out on the streets for long that day.

Cas, at least, was easy to distract with a kiss (or two). Dean had gotten used to lying—or at least “manipulating the truth”—when it came to Bobby since the time he was barely taller than the guy’s knee. Cas, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Playing people right was part of his job, but whatever the heck it was that he was feeling for Cas definitely complicated matters because now he couldn’t look over at Cas without scooping out everything from inside him and presenting it to Cas. Probably because he knew now that he could present even the darkest bits of himself and Cas would still accept him.

It was entirely possible that Bobby had been all right with him leaving because he wanted them to stop making “those damn eyes” at each other.

“Wesson?”

…And that _definitely_ wasn’t his name, so Dean thought he was justified in taking longer to draw out of his thoughts than usual. He managed to follow after the guard anyway and it was probably for the best that he couldn’t hear half the jeers that were being shouted at him. He couldn’t help being impressed by the ones that he did manage to catch, though.

All other sounds fell away, though, once the door fell shut. It was a room used primarily for negotiations, which, considering who he was dealing with, suited Dean just fine.

Ruby, unfortunately, hadn’t gotten any less pretty over her prison stay. There was a trace of weariness to her face, though, no matter how hard she tried to hide it under her trademark smirk, so Dean took some comfort in that at least. It probably said something about her status in the place too that the guard waited outside the room instead of in with them.

“Dean Winchester.” She was actually _lounging_ in her chair. Of fucking course. “You aren’t a figure I expected to see darkening my door.”

The legs of the chair scraped across the tiled floor as Dean pulled it out to sit, no doubt leaving more scuffmarks in its wake. “That so?” He shrugged. “This looks like a step up from your former digs.” Not that that was much of an accomplishment. Drug dens were the kind of places you could only tolerate stepping into if you were already high.

“Bite me, Winchester,” Ruby tossed back.

“Nah,” Dean said. “I’d probably wind up catching something.”

Ruby’s lips twisted together. “Cute.” She drummed her fingernails against the table. It was something she had done in the past, waiting for Sam while flashing Dean that damn smile of hers. Except back then, strung up like a kite or not, Ruby had always put effort into her appearance, keeping her nails polished and gleaming with different colors. There was none of that now, though. Some of the nails were so worn and cracked up in places that Dean was surprised they hadn’t spilt yet. “What are you here for?”

“Information.” Dean honestly wasn’t at all surprised when Ruby snorted at him. He had known what he was in for when he realized this was his last option left. “I thought you’d like the chance to stick it to Crowley.”

That made Ruby snap to attention, even if she did her best to cover it with a smirk. “So you need me—” She must have caught the way that thought made him gag because the curl of her lips became more certain. “—as your guarantee that you don’t get your ass handed to you again. I’m sure there are plenty of fellows back in the clink missing your special sort of company.”

Dean had to grit his teeth in order to keep some semblance of control. He had managed to stay out of that racket while at prison, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten “offers” or had to fight his way out more than once. “I can give you something in return,” he said, at last.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Ruby waggled her eyebrows, laughter tinny in its falseness, “but you’re not my type.”

“Your loss.” Dean knew exactly what Ruby’s type—or, more accurately, mark—was and that left a bitter taste in his mouth when he knew exactly how to play that. “I guess you don’t want to hear about how Sam is doing then.”

There was no way Ruby could hide her interest this time, but Dean found himself wishing that she had. It was like watching a predator that had caught the scent of blood trickling afresh from a wound. There wasn’t anything human about an expression like that or the curve of her lips with nothing in her eyes at all. “Words are empty. If I can see his sweet face again I’d be willing to put up with even you.”

That was definitely more than Dean was willing to give away and Ruby knew it. Or maybe she just wanted to gauge how desperate he was… but that just meant that he could deal her what she thought was a winning hand without her actually pausing to check the cards she was handed too closely.

So he put on a show of swallowing hard then tugging at his tie. He could sense Ruby vibrating with energy across from him, as though she would pounce on him if he didn’t offer up something soon. “Fine… I think I can arrange that.”

Ruby didn’t even manage to conceal her cheer, slouching across the table with the self-satisfied grin of a cat that had just stuffed a whole canary in its mouth. “If you really want to throw a wrench into Crowley’s plans then you should track down the one who calls herself Abaddon. She’s been sticking her foot in Crowley’s business from the start and she’s not like the others that try their hand at it.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

Ruby lifted up one of her shoulders, letting it drop down into a casual shrug, but her eyes were gleaming. “Because she might make him angry…but she’s the only one I’ve ever seen make him scared too.”

It was hard to imagine anyone who could shake Crowley’s smug exterior, but Dean definitely wanted to be there to see it happen. “And where can I find this elusive woman?”

“She owns a bar around the outskirts of Crowley’s territory,” Ruby said. “She won’t be fooled by your empty smiles, though. She’s gonna expect some actual manners, so maybe it’d be better to send Sammy instead.” She grinned, as though she could tell just how much the use of that nickname—the one reserved just for Dean to his brother—had him gagging internally. “After he comes to see me, of course.”

“Right.” Dean sat up, running his hands over his jacket, less to smooth out any creases and more to get any traces of filth off his hands. “I think he might be too busy planning his wedding to bother with you.”

It was easy to pinpoint right when Ruby realized that she had been played. All traces of humor were gone from her face and when she spoke her lips had begun to draw back from her teeth. “You can’t. It’d be going back on your word.”

“I don’t recall making any actual promises,” Dean said, “and, even if I did, you’re not in the position to hold me to them.”

“Because I’m nothing,” Ruby spat each word out like it had been lying rancid on her tongue, “or at least that’s what you think... but I know something you don’t.” Her eyes narrowed, chin angling high. “You Winchesters destroy everything and anything that you love. You’re so desperate for it that you latch onto whatever you can get of it and drain the person offering it dry. So I know that no matter how many fancy words you sling around, Sammy boy isn’t going to be allowed to keep his new lady friend. She’s gonna go the same way as whoever’s making your face light up whenever you think I’m not watching.”

“Well thanks for that sobering image,” Dean said, “but so long as you’re gonna waste away in here I don’t much care.”

“You don’t believe me.” He was half surprised still that Ruby’s teeth were still even and straight when she smiled; no points in sight. “But you will.”

 

It went without saying that anyone who could make Crowley quake in his imported shoes had to be a force to be reckoned with. And maybe, if she was alike enough to Crowley to play fairly on his turf, unpleasant to deal with.

Still, when Dean arrived at her bar, Hell’s Knight, to find her booting a riotous group of men out on their asses with her bare hands, brandishing a massively imposing gun as backup when they tried to turn on her, it was hard not to be impressed.

Although once the men fled, leaving Abaddon free to sling the weapon over her shoulder in far too casual a manner, the smile on her face really did unnerve him. It was a cliché to be sure, but in that moment her lips really did seem smeared with blood.

“Dean Winchester, I was starting to wonder if you’d ever show up.”

“You knew I was coming?” That was fairly unnerving in and of itself because, even accounting for the good hour spent on the ferry ride back, it hadn’t taken him that long to get here. So for word to have reached Abaddon already she had to have some pretty impressive sources.

Some of his disconcerting thoughts must have shown on his face because she seemed far too pleased with herself as she waved him inside. Despite how worn down the brick on the outside was, not to mention the fact it skirted around the edges of Devil’s Trap territory, the place was pleasantly polished on the inside. It still wasn’t the sort of place Dean would head into normally, although it gave him a jolt to realize that the place was more to Cas’s tastes.

The place had been fairly well populated, even with evening still a fair ways off, but the gaggles of people seemed to melt away when Abaddon led Dean over to a cluster of dark couches. Abaddon collapsed down onto one of the couches in a way that was far too elegant while Dean was left scrambling for purchase on his own when he realized that the damn thing was actually made of real leather and therefore slippery as hell.

“So,” Abaddon reached under the table between them, tugging out the stopper on a round crystal bottle of whiskey. The scent of it wafted over as she poured the amber liquid into two small glasses. Even before she slid one over to him Dean could tell the stuff was expensive. “What do you want with little old me?”

In the end there was only really one word worth saying. “Crowley.”

The effect was as instantaneous as it was quick. Abaddon’s eyes narrowed, mouth thinning out as she pressed her lips together. Except then the corners of her mouth were twisting back upwards, the rest of her face smoothing over as she raised her glass to her lips. “I hope you have a good reason to bring that name into what was supposed to be a civilized discussion.”

“Of course.” Dean lifted his own glass, having to fight not to gulp at the stuff because, damn, it really was good. “Because I have a chance to bring him down and, correct me if I’m wrong, but that seems like something you’d be all for.”

Abaddon lowered her glass, tapping her finger against the rim once before succumbing to a grin that Dean didn’t want to admit sent shivers down his spine. “Oh, you’re not wrong at all,” she said, “but first let’s hear what you think you have. It won’t be any use to throw all in on something worthless.”

Not when she had been waiting for so long for an opportunity like this, Dean was sure, but he couldn’t say that. “I have a murder that I can pin on him,” he said, “and another one I can line up alongside it.” Which wasn’t much of a stretch since everyone already believed that Anna had been poisoned and it would get Cas off the hook with the Angels for good. “I just need to snag some evidence that’ll make it so even that slimy bastard can’t worm his way out.”

“If you’re talking about the killing that’s got both the Angels and Crowley’s boys in a tizzy,” Abaddon said, “then I’ve got just the thing. Along with a way to get in.” She reached under the table and Dean wasn’t able to keep from flinching when her hand came back holding a pistol. She laughed, deep and throaty, before tossing it down on the tabletop, which made Dean angle himself rather firmly away from it. “People around here might care more about what’s between a person’s legs than their brains, but they can’t stop me from expanding my business opportunities. And in a city like this one, weapons are the most lucrative product out there. Even Crowley has to stoop to buying from me if he wants the best, and he always does.”

Dean was already starting to put the pieces together in his head. “So if you convince them that you’re just there to drop off a shipment…”

“Then we have our in,” Abaddon said. She peered at Dean, fingers stroking the handle of the pistol. “And if you tip your hat down we might even have a chance at you not being recognized until after my work is done.”

“We’re going in now?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” Abaddon said. “No point in striking when the pot has gone cold.” She lifted a single brow at Dean, gaze cool. “Unless you would rather take some time to summon up the nerve.”

Dean thought of Cas, whose expression had been pale and drawn, even after Dean whispered promises into his mouth as they kissed. The answer came easy then. “No, I’ve got it. I’m ready.”

 

At the start, Dean honestly thought they had a chance of things going smoothly. There had been more than few mutterings over Abaddon delivering the “package” personally, but Abaddon had deftly tossed them asunder by assuring that she had only come to ensure that it had been handled properly. It suggested that there had to be something truly unique about what weapons had been bought this time and, besides, Crowley was out on other business anyway so what the boss didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

No one paid any attention to the guy that slipped in with her because, whether she was overseeing things or not, a lady didn’t resort to heavy lifting when there was a perfectly good lackey to do it for her. Technically speaking, Dean had to keep his head lowered anyway with how far down Abaddon had shoved the brim of his hat, his face further hidden by the high collar on the flogger she’d lent him. He just had to wait out in the hall while she went in under the excuse of unpacking the delivery and since she knew what she was really supposed to be looking for in Crowley’s office he knew shouldn’t take her too long to finish up.

…but because fate was exactly the bitch people thought she was, Brady just happened to come into the hallway right when Dean had relaxed enough to tip his head back, tugging at his collar.

“ _You_.” Dean heard the gun being drawn before his head even whipped towards the voice. “You made me into a laughingstock.”

Dean held up his hands. “Let’s be rational about this,” he said. “I mean…were you ever _not_ a laughingstock?”

It was good that the door across the hall was actually unlocked so he could dive into it when Brady opened fire because he hadn’t actually thought to check before he made that plan. It was even better that that one of the perks of working with Abaddon meant being armed to the teeth with some very flashy new toys.

Even so, Dean knew he could only hold them off for so long, especially since the sounds of a gunfight could hardly be contained and reinforcements were already starting to flood in. He had already gone through all the ammo in at least two guns and bullets were starting to whizz dangerously close to his ears.

Except then there was a hissing sound that was completely out of place with the flurry of bangs. Then there were fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s shoulder wrenching him to his feet. He knew it was Abaddon from the spice of her perfume, but that scent was quickly overwhelmed by a stream of smoke that warned him of just what was going on.

They barely had enough time to get out before the blast went off, but Dean was rounding on Abaddon well before his ears had time to stop ringing. “What the hell was that? You just blew any evidence sky high!”

His head jerked to the side under the force of the hand that lashed out across his face, ears ringing for an entirely new reason. “Watch your temper, Winchester.” Something weighted and cool was slid into the palm of his hand, Abaddon curling his fingers down around it. “This is all the evidence you need anyway.”

In Dean’s hand was a folded up knife, obviously expensive from the embossed details and the way it gleamed under what light was left. He lifted his gaze to Abaddon, who looked demented enough with her lips spread into a smile that almost cracked her face in two and even more so with the flames pushing up behind her.

“That’s your murder weapon. The one I saw Crowley fleeing the scene of the crime with and, trust me, I’m willing to testify.”

Dean stared blankly for a moment. Then, he said, “You saw him.”

“A lady’s got to look out for herself, does she not? I’ve had my eye on Crowley a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

Dean’s gut twisted slightly, but he suspected that was just what Abaddon’s presence did to people. “You’re… you’re sure this knife is…”

“It’s the only one like it. I know because I sold it to him myself. I guarantee it’ll match up. Take that to the bulls and you’ve got your case, but you’d better do it before Crowley gets the jury bought off.”

“You’re pretty damned gung-ho about this—“

“You wanted evidence,” Abaddon interrupted. “Here it is. Don’t start bellyaching now.” She pressed her palm into his shoulder and he found himself letting out a whine. He’d been grazed by a bullet, hadn’t even noticed until now.

Dean looked back towards the building, smoke curling up into the sky in heavy black clouds. He could hear sirens in the distance, knew the coppers weren’t far away.

He looked back to Abaddon, pursed his lips, and said, “I’ll be in touch.”


	9. Chapter 9

_**Nine.** _

“You said you wouldn’t be out late.”

It was the first thing Dean heard when he stepped inside. He glanced over at the kitchen table, finding Bobby sitting there, expression neutral as it usually was when he was trying to decide whether or not to be angry.

“Caught a lead,” Dean said, puffing on the cigarette he’d lit on the walk back. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done now.”

“Done?”

Dean nodded, staring up the steps to his room where Cas surely waited. “My part is. Now we just gotta let the bulls do what they do and then let the justice system take care of the rest. It’ll probably be in the papers once they make the arrest, then everything’ll fall into place. Done.”

“That easy,” Bobby said, and Dean didn’t like the skeptical edge to his voice.

“Getting my ass beat and getting involved with both sides of the mob isn’t exactly what I would call easy.”

Bobby picked up the glass he had sitting in front of him, swirling the small amount of liquid still inside it before downing it in one gulp. “I ain’t saying you haven’t got a penchant for trouble. You’ll put me in my grave early for it. All I’m saying is everything that led you the way you went seems sort of convenient.”

“You know what they say,” Dean said with a shrug. “Don’t look for zebras, and all that.”

“So it’s an open and shut case then.”

Dean nodded, sure of himself.

“That’s your big comeback? An open and shut?”

“Bobby,” Dean said, brow furrowing. “What the hell is your problem? I thought you’d be happy. I fixed it, I—I’m back in the game… and the fighting out there, it’s going to stop now!”

“The fighting never stops, boy,” Bobby said, never losing his cool demeanor as he got to his feet, setting his glass down with a hard _thunk_. “If you’re sure you’ve found your meat, then that’s swell, but I need you to be damned, _damned_ sure.”

Dean hesitated before asking, “What happened while I was gone?”

Bobby’s hands slid into his pockets. “Your buddy upstairs came down a few hours ago. He asked me a question. He asked me… if there was ever anything he could have done that you would never forgive him for.”

“What did he do?” Dean asked, voice growing softer.

“He didn’t say. Maybe you should ask him.”

“Bobby… you know Cas. You know him. He’d never do anything to anyone.”

“I do know him, and he’s a nice fellow. I also know he already has done things to people. A man will commit mighty a heinous act when he’s desperate, Dean. You just need to remember that.”

Dean looked back up the steps at the quiet room still waiting for him. “I know I’m right about this, Bobby… I know it.”

Bobby nodded. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He was sure. He had to be. It was too late to go back now.

 

Dean would have liked to say he didn’t have a further creeping doubt, but as everything seemed to come together as he’d expected, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right call. He’d wanted to ask Cas about it when he’d come home that night, but the words got stuck to the roof of his mouth and all he could do was let Cas stitch up his shoulder and kiss him to sleep. He wondered if Cas had tasted the sour question, if he could touch the worrisome thoughts when his fingers grazed through Dean’s hair.

Crowley had adamantly denied his involvement, but of course no one believed him. The cops seemed downright giddy to have Dean’s evidence, having been looking for something to pin directly on Crowley for some time now. Last Dean had heard, Crowley had skipped town, but he suspected he’d be back. Whether that would be on his own terms or in handcuffs remained to be seen.

The Angels had backed down now that a killer had been identified, though Cas still held no interest in keeping ties with them. He’d told Dean as he packed up to return to his apartment, “The only two people I cared about there are gone now.”

Dean had wanted to ask then as well, but there was nothing to say. By the time Dean had left Cas in his apartment, he had the money in his pocket to signal a job done…

…but still…

…still…

Something didn’t sit right with him.

 _“I am not a good man,”_ Cas had said. _“I never have been.”_

Dean wasn’t sure about that… He _was_ sure that Crowley most certainly had never been good. He had deserved to go down. This was _Crowley_ , for God’s sake. Of course he had been guilty. Getting the Angels in a tizzy was his plan from the start, getting them off their guard and focused on something else so he could swoop in and take what he wanted. That had always been Crowley’s objective when it came to anything. Gabriel had seen him in the area, and Abaddon said she’d seen the whole thing happen. Dean was so sure he was behind it—the doubt, it just had to be paranoia. Bobby had spooked him with Cas’s question. There was no guarantee it had even meant anything…

…of course, none of this would have even mattered if _Cas_ didn’t mean something to Dean.

Dean had been so determined never to get close to any of his clients, but Cas had gotten under more than his skin. It was as if the man’s memory slid through every vein, as if every thought of him holed up in the corners of his brain and every kiss nestled in the warmest spot of his chest, into the heart that had once been reserved only for Sam.

Maybe that was why, Dean thought. Dean had understood Cas, and maybe that was because he saw himself in Cas. He’d done some bad things in an attempt to protect the ones he’d cared about, and he’d gotten screwed over for it. He wanted a normal life, a chance at redemption. Dean had been Cas’s way out, and Cas had been Dean’s. Even though they had briefly been lovers, Dean had expected the sentiment to fade… Yet, ever since Cas had returned home, Dean had actually missed his presence, had ridiculous daydreams of showing up at his apartment, asking him to come back, to stay, to find his normal life with Dean.

He wasn’t that stupid, of course, but the thought was nice.

He didn’t understand why he could still have these fears when he knew Cas so… intimately. Cas had no reason to screw him over, never would have even _hired_ him if he had been anything but innocent… right?

He could still remember Cas’s hand sliding through his hair, feather light and tender. His cologne had lilted around them, making Dean’s pain seem worth it.

…but then Cas had said he wasn’t as good as Dean seemed to think…

…and now Dean just didn’t know if Cas had a complex or if something else was going on.

He really needed to get it out of his head.

 

Crowley eventually was found and brought back to be tried for Balthazar’s murder. Dean had hoped that sitting in and watching the events unfold by the prosecution would help ease his fears… but it didn’t.

When Abaddon took the stage and told her tale, she went by her real name, Josie Sands (or at least that was what she said). She was entirely more weepy and demure than Dean would have expected, telling the jury how she’d been headed downtown when she’d spotted Crowley skulking about. There had been an altercation, and then Crowley had stabbed the other man. It was at that point that Crowley had surged to his feet and shouted, “Lying whore!”

Crowley certainly wasn’t doing himself any favors, but it was what he said after that caught his attention.

“Lying whore! Bloody harpy! I never should have bought that knife off of you! You set me up! You weren’t even there!”

He’d been dragged out after that, but for some reason the sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach wouldn’t go away.

He didn’t even have to ask Abaddon about it. As they hauled Crowley out for being a disruption, Dean met her gaze on the witness stand. There was no light in her eyes, her demure smile a mask that could only fool those who had never been in their world.

It only took a little digging that night for Dean to find out Abaddon had been down by the docks on the night of the murder, making a sale. Of course, no one would dare say they were buying from her, so the information was essentially useless for turning the tides of the case. Dean would have been a fool to do so anyway, considering he was the one who got Abaddon onto the stand to start with.

He told himself that just because Abaddon lied about her presence didn’t mean Crowley wasn’t guilty. They had the knife, the one of a kind knife, and who else but Crowley would use his own knife?

Except… Crowley never did his own dirty work. That was what he had all of his goons for, wasn’t it? Why would he put himself in such a position? He supposed it was possible he hadn’t intended to kill. Maybe he’d come there to take down Cas. God knew he had reason to be angry with him. Maybe Balthazar had gotten caught in the middle and wound up dead. Cas had been beaten up that night. There had to have been a struggle. Crowley hadn’t had a scratch on him, however, and while Dean suspected he could hold his own in a fight if he had to, he severely doubted he was that good.

Besides, if Crowley hadn’t done it, there was no one else there who could have unless Balthazar stabbed himself. Dean couldn’t even dare to put Cas in the shoes of the killer. He’d come looking for help after all. A killer wouldn’t hire a gumshoe to find the killer.

Crowley had had a chance to take the stand, but he’d just rolled his eyes and said, “Bollocks. None of you are going to believe me anyway. You’ll believe a pair of doe eyes no matter what they say.”

He’d looked at Dean when he’d said it, and Dean severely doubted he was talking about Abaddon.

_Shit._

 

When Cas answered the door, Dean briefly forgot what he’d come for. He was so goddamned _beautiful_ … and seeing his face again brought to mind how long it had been since he’d seen him, since he’d touched him.

“Dean,” Cas said, almost breathless. “What… what are you doing here?”

God, what was he doing here? This was ridiculous. Cas didn’t _do_ anything, Dean _knew_ that.

“Jury was unanimous,” Dean said, handing Cas the newspaper he had rolled up in his fist. “Crowley’s going away for a long time.”

“Oh,” Cas said, unrolling the paper to look at the front page. Putting one of the biggest mob bosses in town in the clink was as big of a deal as Dean had expected it to be… it should have left him feeling smug and victorious.

“Is that all you have to say about it?” Dean asked. “Oh?”

“It doesn’t undo what was done,” Cas mumbled, turning away as Dean followed him into the apartment. Cas had apparently been doing a little spring cleaning, having cleared out most of the clutter. “I’m relieved it’s over… Thank you, Dean.”

 _Fuck_ , Dean thought, fingers twitching at his side. He wanted to reach out and grab Cas, hold him. He was almost angry that Cas didn’t fall into his arms when he saw him… but he wasn’t that kind of person. Neither of them were.

“Cas… I don’t…”

Cas looked up from the article, those blue eyes staring directly into Dean’s, expression that of an animal staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun.

“I don’t think Crowley did it,” Dean finished.

“Oh.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Who did him in, Cas?”

Cas put the paper down in the chair Dean had once sat, the chair where Cas had cleaned his wounds with gentle, affectionate hands. Dean could see in that brief moment of silence that Cas was not in good shape—he hadn’t been eating regular meals and his eyes were bruised with exhaustion. He hadn’t shaved in a while either. Something was weighing heavy on him, something that hadn’t been there before, not when they’d met. Perhaps it had made its presence known somewhere down the line, but by then Dean had found his selective blindness to it.

“You remember now,” Dean said, “don’t you? Or did you never forget?”

“Dean…” Cas said, head shaking side to side as he lifted his hands. “I don’t kn—“

It was as if Dean blinked and suddenly Cas was pressed against the wall, Dean’s fists holding Cas in place by his shirt. “Don’t you fucking lie to me again, Cas,” he said, voice shaking though he wasn’t certain if it was from anger or despair. “Not now.”

Cas stared up at him, and he seemed so small. Dean’s hands loosened from the fabric, but a hand stayed planted on his chest, keeping him there. “Cas…” he said, forehead pressing against his. “God damn it…”

“I remembered… the night you came back for me, the night you came and took me back to your home to protect me…”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, the pit in his stomach growing ever deeper. “Cas…”

“It was an accident,” Cas croaked. “I don’t… I don’t know what—I didn’t mean to… Dean… he was my friend.”

“What. Happened.”

Dean could feel Cas’s chest rising and falling under his hand, his breath nervous and shaky, like he was about to cry. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes to look.

“I still don’t remember all of it… I just… Crowley showed up while we were leaving, started talking about how he’d heard I was back in town, said I owed him money with interest, said he came down all on his own because I was a special case. I told him I didn’t have anything, or I tried to. I was so drunk I could barely stand up straight… Balthazar offered to pay him off… After that, I don’t… I don’t know, Dean. There was a noise. A car backfired or someone shot a pistol or… I don’t know. I panicked. I went into fight-or-flight mode, and I chose fight. All these images in my head… It was like I was back over there, overseas, in the fighting… I attacked Balthazar because he was the closest. I don’t remember it, but I guess he tried to fight me off… I can hear his voice calling me—Cas, Cas, _Cas_ … but it was like it was coming from far away… I guess at one point I turned on Crowley, and he pulled out the knife to protect himself.”

Dean’s other hand had found its way up into Cas’s hair, thumbing over the scar.

“You took it from him,” Dean said, “and when Balthazar tried to get you to calm down, you turned on him.”

“He was my friend, Dean… he was my friend…”

“The Angels were right. You killed him.”

Dean opened his eyes. Cas wasn’t looking at him.

It was all starting to make sense, all the pieces finally finding their proper place. “Crowley took the knife because he knew it’d be pinned on him if he left it,” Dean said. “By then, you were already gone.”

“I’m sorry, Dean…”

“Sorry, you’re sorry… you’re _sorry_?” Dean shouted, shoving him as he stepped away from him, mouth curved into a hard frown. “You _knew_ … and you… you didn’t say—“

“I couldn’t,” Cas said softly, and his voice was steady now. His eyes were still staring down at the floor. “You were in too deep. I tried to stop you, Dean, but you didn’t want to be stopped… and I didn’t really want to let you go.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie, Cas!”

“What was I supposed to do, Dean?!” Cas shouted then, fists clenching. “I’d hired you to prove my innocence. I’d never thought I would even be capable of harming my friend, Dean, and… and when I did realize the truth, I… I couldn’t cause harm to another friend… you.”

“You didn’t want to cause me harm. I got my ass beat for you, Cas. I could have died pinning it on Crowley… but all of that, all of _that_ is nothing compared to…”

_Compared to what you’ve done to my heart._

“Dean… Crowley… he deserved to go down. He deserved to be put away. The fighting can stop now. By the time I knew which path you were taking and how determined you were on taking it, I had to let you. It was for the good of _everyone_.”

“The fighting isn’t going to stop. Someone else is going to take up Crowley’s spot, and I can almost guarantee who it’ll be—the very goddamned person who went to bat for you on the witness stand.”

Cas stared at him, expression blank.

“You promised me,” Dean said quietly, “you _promised_ you’d tell me anything you remembered when you remembered it. God, Cas… if you said it was an accident, they might have let you walk.”

“No one would have believed me, Dean.”

“I would have,” Dean said.

Cas just looked at the floor, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter if you would have, Dean. All that matters is what _they_ would have thought, and I… I couldn’t… if I had even been put on the stand for it, the Angels would have killed me before I ever got sentenced. I just wanted it to be over… I just…”

“I trusted you, Cas… I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done.”

“I do,” Cas said, a rueful smile coming onto his lips only long enough to make an appearance before fading away. “I haven’t slept in days. All I’ve thought about is what you would say to me when you found out, what you would do. I’ve hated myself for all of this, Dean… but I thought maybe, just maybe, you could forgive me. After being the one to put Crowley away, everything is going to be better for you, isn’t it? You can move on now.”

The whole room fell silent, and Dean despised himself for wanting to reach out and take Cas’s hand. Despite everything he had done, despite the lies, despite the mistakes… Dean still saw a good man standing there before him.

He had no other choice.

If Cas wasn’t a good man, then what did that make Dean?

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said quietly. It hung in the air like a dark cloud afterward.

“I hope you’re happy,” Dean said, though he wasn’t sure if it was sarcastic or if he meant it. “There’s nothing to be done now. You put me behind the eight ball—if I squeal on you now, we both go down… so it’s over, one way or another. It’s over.”

“Dean…”

“It’s done.”

Before Cas could say anymore, and before Dean could let him, Dean turned on his heel and walked out of the apartment. Cas didn’t follow.

As Dean stepped out onto the sidewalk, a drizzle of rain started to fall. He looked up towards the sky and held out his hands, cold droplets falling against his face and open palms, and he thought of a warm bed, a normal life, a future he could look forward to…

The rain kept falling, sliding down his cheeks and slipping through his fingers to the dirty ground below.


End file.
